


Pocahontas

by sortingthesockbasket



Series: Twisted Princesses [1]
Category: Pocahontas (1995), Supernatural
Genre: Blood and Gore, Bobby Lives, Cursed Castiel, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fluff, Gabriel Lives, I'd add more characters except then spoilers, M/M, Psychological Torture, Soul Bond, Souls, Torture, What Have I Done, brief tho, how do i tags, idk it's my first fic, lots and lots of fluff, probably smut later, season 8 AU, sorta - Freeform, tp!verse, twisted princess series, twisted princesses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-04
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2017-12-31 11:40:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1031290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sortingthesockbasket/pseuds/sortingthesockbasket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean are on a hunt unlike anything they've ever seen before, and even Bobby can't identify the monster. Without warning, Gabriel shows up with bad news and some answers. What happened to Cas, and can they fix it before it's too late? (First fic, I suck at summaries, and this is the first of a series yay)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which a Wild Trickster Appears!

 

 

At first they thought she was a pagan nature goddess. Her victims, after all, were scalped and mutilated by violent, bloody plants whose massive thorns reached out for them, tearing denim, leather, and thick flannel as easily as rice paper or vicious, excessively territorial animals with empty black eyes like black holes, eyes that neither held nor reflected light. Silver and holy water set these demonic creatures to rest, and they were even able to rescue a few by virtue of near-drowning in holy water. She exclusively targeted descendants of the colonists, especially those of the Mayflower line. She spawned Croats in her wake, leaving them behind like presents for Sam and Dean on her bloody warpath across New England. Bobby was stumped so far but was checking every book he owned and many that he didn't. She left no trace on the natural environment to show her passing, but the trail of bodies was enough. They followed her, bewildered but pissed off, cleaning up her messes, exterminating the Croats and the monsters she left behind as quickly and painlessly as possible. They were fierce, these creatures, and the Winchesters' own colonial blood wasn't gaining them any points.

 

It was a young American Indian girl named When the Rain Comes who first told them what the thing they thought to be a pagan goddess looked like. Her hair, the girl said, was long and black, her eyes those of a fierce warrior of her people. She wore a tattered deerskin dress, the fringe on which was torn and missing in some places. Hundreds of scalps dangled from her beaded belt amidst the stone knives and pouches for herbs; the mysterious deity was so covered in blood and grime that it was almost impossible to tell what color her dress had originally been, but When the Rain Comes thought it might have been tan. The mighty warrior lady, she said, had appeared to her just as her landlord was evicting her from her apartment. With a  blood-chilling battle cry, the bloodied warrior woman had pounced on the girl's landlord, scalped him, and turned to the apartment's occupant. She kissed her on the forehead and then disappeared. Several of the girl's neighbors had turned into Croats, but, strangely enough, revered When the Rain Comes and would not attack her.

 

"Fuckin' weird-ass brand of Croats," Dean remarked as he slid into the driver's seat of his Impala. "Whole damn thing gives me the heebies. The hell can do something like that?"

 

"A goddess, for one," Sam answered, buckling his seat belt as he joined Dean in the car. "Probably a Native American one."

 

"Don't those usually have some kind of spirit animal?" Dean asked. "I've never heard of one going Guano like this."

 

"Neither have I," Sam said. There was a pause. "Did you try calling Cas?"

 

"No," Dean retorted instantly, twisting the key in the ignition with more force than was probably strictly necessary. "We are not calling Cas. We've been hunting evil sons of bitches our entire lives, Sam; we don't need to go whining to the angel on our shoulders every time we run into a problem."

 

"I'd say this is a pretty big problem, Dean," Sam replied. "We don't know for sure what it is, _Bobby_ doesn't know what it is, we have no way of killing it, and it's killing people. I don't think we have much choice here." What Sam didn't add was that, since they'd had a row in Las Cruces, New Mexico, Dean and Cas had barely spoken to each other. Sam knew they had something special there, and he wanted to help them fix it before it was too late.

 

"For the last time, Sammy," Dean began, but he was interrupted by a voice like cartoon sunshine from the backseat that made him swerve violently and almost run over a minivan.

 

"Aww, Samsquatch, that's adorable! Playing Cupid, huh?" Gabriel cooed. Sam almost shot him in the face, and Dean almost decapitated him with Ruby's knife before they recognized him. Dean straightened the Impala on the road as quickly as possible.

 

"Gabriel! What the...?! You're alive?" Sam sputtered.

 

"What the hell does that mean, 'playing Cupid?'" Dean demanded, cutting Sam off. "And what the hell are you doing here?!"

 

"Hello to you, too, boys," Gabriel chirped. "Yes, I'm alive, obviously. You didn't think I'd let Lucy get the drop on me, did you? Anywho, I'm here to help you two dollopheads."

 

"You were _dead_ , Gabriel!" Sam protested. A note of something neither Sam nor Dean especially wanted to identify lingered in his voice, a faint hint of it whispering  in the undertones. Dean really, really hoped he was hearing things. "We saw the wings."

 

"Well, now I'm _not_ dead," Gabriel answered him, honey-gold eyes flicking to Sam's brown ones, something soft in them that was echoed in his tone. "Guess Daddy still loves me, after all. Either way, Kiddo, I'm here now, so quit picking at the details at let me help you out, huh?" That softness in his voice belied the harsh edge of the words. Dean felt like he was intruding on something just listening to him. "And Dean-o? Cut out the innocent act, will ya? We all know you're head-over-heels for our own pretty little Cassie, so you can come out of the closet."

 

"You're a closet, asshat," Dean muttered, the moment over, and promptly found himself with a mouthful of toffee gluing his teeth together.

 

"I heard that!" Gabriel said cheerfully. "Let the adults talk, Dean-o. Now, Sammich, about the thing you're hunting...we got an ID yet?"

 

"We're thinking Native American pagan goddess," Sam said, sparing his furious brother a sympathetic glance, "but we aren't positive yet. What kind of goddess leaves a trail of Croats behind her like this?"

 

"None of 'em," Gabriel said. "She ain't exactly a _goddess_ , see, more of a...mutation?"

 

Dean glared suspiciously at Gabriel in the rearview, still trying to unstick his teeth enough to speak. Sam looked over at him again, then back at Gabriel. "Let him go, Gabriel," he said. 

 

"But I like him better this way," Gabriel said. He caught a glimpse of Sam's bitch face promising all hell and pandemonium and sighed. "Aw, okay, fine. But only if you...." He leaned forward and whispered something in Sam's ear. The younger Winchester looked scandalized, pulling back a little to look Gabriel, who was waggling his eyebrows suggestively, in the face. Dean made an indignant noise. 

 

"Are you serious?" Sam spluttered.

 

"If you're willing, Sammy," Gabriel replied, winking salaciously.

 

"Whatever it is, Sammy, don't!" Dean tried to say, but it came out more like, "Wrrmrrfr ff ss, Shmmff, d'nt!"

 

"Aw, you're cute when you're flustered," Gabriel cooed. Sam was still speechless. "Tell ya what, Samsquatch, I'll let him go 'cause I like you. Rain check, mmkay? But that offer's open any time you wanna take me up on it. On the house." He snapped his fingers, and Dean's teeth were suddenly toffee-free, with a complimentary minty too-cleanness that felt like he 'd just spent an hour or two in a hygienist's chair. Dean shuddered. He hated dentists. Hot hygienists were one thing, but dentists....

 

" _Thank_ you, asshole," Dean growled, pulling into the hotel parking lot. "Now what the hell do you want?" He had an uncomfortable feeling that Gabriel was buttering them up for something, and in Dean's experience, when a being with the power to turn you into a moldy donut without batting an eyelash was trying to worm its way into a favor, it was usually bad news. Very bad news.

 

"Welllll...."  If Gabriel had been standing, he would've been rocking on his heels, hands clasped behind his back. "I need a favor." 

 

"I knew it," Dean muttered, but Sam cut him off.

 

"What, uh..." he cleared his throat. "What do you need?" Gabriel beamed.

 

"See? Knew there was a reason I liked you best, Sammich," he said warmly. "Other than your killer giant dick, that is." Sam scowled so darkly that Dean was half afraid for the archangel's continued well-being.

 

"Answer the question," Sam said flatly.

 

"And quit flirting with my baby brother, prick," Dean added. "'S fuckin' creepy as hell."

 

"Ah, ah, ah, Dean-o," Gabriel tsked, looking delighted that this had come up. "You flirt with mine, so I can flirt with yours whenever I want." If looks could kill, Gabriel would have been deader than last year's Christmas pudding. "Save the bedroom eyes, Dean-o, those only work on Cassie. Now, Sammich, in answer to your question...the thing you're hunting has something of mine. I want it back. There are a few more like her you'll need to take out, but I promise I'll make it worth your while. Yours especially, Kiddo," Gabriel couldn't resist adding, his lips quirking up into a seductive smirk.

 

"Worth our while how?" Dean demanded. "Ours in general, you can leave out Sam's bonus package," he added hastily.

 

"Nice save, Dean-o," Gabriel chuckled. "How about my undying gratitude?" Dean gave him an incredulous stare. "Kidding, guys, kidding. How does a little vacation sound? You boys name the place, time, and length. 1973 Metallica concert? Done. Front-row seats for Pompeii? Piece of cake. Up-close and personal tour of the last ice age? All yours. Three-week stay in Aztec Mexico? Sure thing." Sam and Dean exchanged looks.

 

"You mean it?" Dean asked finally. 

 

"Yup!" Gabriel said cheerily. "Let's sweeten the deal a little. Sweet things are the best, right? No matter how long of a break you want, I can even bring you right back to the moment you left so nobody dies while you're off." The Winchesters were dumbstruck. "All you gotta do is hunt a few monsters for me, and it's all yours."

 

"What do they have of yours that you want so badly?" Sam asked, still trying to wrap his head around the idea.

 

"The hell did they do, steal the key to Willy Wonka's chocolate factory?" Dean quipped; it was plain he wasn't buying it. There was no way hunting and vacations were compatible.


	2. In Which Gabriel Drops a Bomb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mostly plot builder in this chapter. Gabe tells stuff :3

"Ah, see, I can't tell you that," Gabriel said reluctantly. "I'd like to, Kiddo, really, but the fewer people who know what I'm missing, the better." Dean's eyes narrowed.

"Listen, Trickster, I don't trust you," he snapped. "No hunters get vacations. Ever. Doesn't matter how many archangels' asses they save." Gabriel sighed, a keen gleam flickering through his golden eyes, giving Dean a shrewd look that was gone almost before Dean could be certain it had been there at all.

"Oooh, Dean-o, that hurts," he said in mock distress. "...I'll give you my sword," he decided after a moment. "It'll kill them, sure as sure, and it will make sure my...stuff gets back to me." He reached inside his dull-green denim jacket and pulled out the heavy, gleaming silver short sword. Flipping it around so he held the blade in his slender, graceful fingers, he held it up, pommel pointing towards the ceiling. "Now. I'm giving this to you, but if you stab me with it, you won't have another chance to get Cassie back." Dean whipped around to glower at him, positively outraged. Gabriel held up a hand to stop him, and when Dean's mouth opened, no words came out. "No, I didn't do anything to him. He's my _brother_ , you presumptuous dickwad." Dean's mouth snapped shut, and Gabriel undid the mojo he'd laid on him. "Done jumping to conclusions now?" he asked, annoyed.

"One thing I don't understand," Sam said cautiously. Gabriel gestured for him to continue, bright golden eyes focused attentively on him. "If something's happened to Cas, and you had nothing to do with it, then why don't you fix it? You're an all-powerful archangel. Whatever you can do to help him is probably quicker and better than whatever way we eventually find to muddle through."

"Good question, Kiddo," Gabriel said. "I'm glad you asked that." He wasn't, actually, but he had come prepared for Sam's inquisitive mind. "The kind of hoodoo laid on our little Cassie can only be broken by completing the stipulations of the spell or ganking the bitch who cast it. I know what you're thinking. 'Gank her yourself, Gabe, you're plenty strong enough, and good-looking to boot!' True, but any witch good enough to screw Castiel over is plenty good enough to know how to cloak herself from upstairs observance. She'd sense me coming for her thirty miles out and run from my righteous wrath.

"Little trick about that spell, though," Gabriel said after a pause, clearly enjoying the attention he was getting. "It can only sense me if I'm coming with the intent to kill her. Which I won't be. You will. But you've got to take her sisters out first, or they'll be all over you like size on Sammy."

"'Sisters'?" Dean demanded. "How many of these bitches are there?!"

"A lot," Gabriel replied, rather unhelpfully.

"Meaning you don't even know?" Sam guessed shrewdly.

"Right," Gabriel admitted, shifting uncomfortably. "But this blade'll kill them. Here, Sammy, for you." He handed the blade, pommel-first, to Sam, trying to control his wildly beating heart. He was... _almost_ positive he'd hidden it. With Sam, it was hard to tell, because Sam noticed _everything_.There was something intimate about an angel willingly surrendering their blade to another, and even more so for archangels. Sam's gaze was steady, if a bit puzzled and vaguely suspicious, as he accepted the unexpectedly heavy short sword from Gabriel, and the fact that it was Sam who held it, Sam who met his eyes without hesitation, that helped soothe Gabriel's jangling nerves. A soft pulse of white light burst from the handle as Sam took it, and both Winchesters jumped.

"The hell did you do to him?!" Dean demanded, seizing Gabriel by the collar of his shirt and dragging him forward. Gabriel scowled.

"Nothing," he lied. "That was just the spell to send the stuff they stole from me back when you kill them." In truth, he wasn't wholly certain what that white light had been, but he had his suspicions. "Samasaurus Rex's gotta be the one to use it, though." Another lie, but at least Gabriel could be sure Dean wouldn't be manhandling his Grace. Dean let go of him, eyes wary and mistrustful as he slowly loosened his grasp. Everyone in the car was silent, the moments stretching into what felt like years.

"What the hell happened to Cas?" Dean barked when he couldn't take the waiting anymore. He'd given Gabriel plenty of time to spill, and he hadn't bothered. Gabriel looked pained. Withdrawing a photograph from his jacket, he held it out for their inspection.

"That," he said unhappily. The photo depicted a man who was unmistakably Castiel, occupying Jimmy Novak's body, but he was different. For one thing, an impressive set of deer antlers sprouted from his head, loosely draped with something stringy, Spanish moss, maybe, and he wore the skull of a small animal, perhaps a weasel, on a string around his neck, and it dangled down, its front fangs resting delicately on the lowest edge of his sternum. He wore no shirt, only some kind of low-riding baggy pants of an indeterminate drab color, and his right ear was pierced with a smallish hoop of what looked like black bone. A string of feathers looped around from just to the left of the button on his pants to the back. He held a shepherd's crook in one hand, a lantern dangling from the end, a string with more feathers looped loosely around the straight part of the shaft about a hand's length away from the top of the curve. A layer of grime covered his fair skin, his eyes startling in the shadows and dirt on his face. His hair didn't look much different, except it had a generous sprinkling of leaves, twigs, and other debris tangled in it. What made him look most different, however, was the look in his eyes: feral, murderous, and cold but also fearful and mistrustful, like a wild animal. It made Dean's heart twist painfully, reminding him too much of the look of many things he'd seen and fought in Purgatory, but it also sent wrath and rage flaring up in his heart. _Nobody_ screwed with Dean Winchester's family if they wanted to live very long. A strange, deep-seated need to catch this wild version of Cas, catch him and coax him back into who he really was, swirled along in purply pained undertones to the red- and white-hot fury seething in his veins.

"The _hell_ can do that to m--to an angel?!" Dean demanded, narrowly avoiding saying "my angel" instead of "an angel." Gabriel gave him a knowing look, and Dean tried to kill him with his eyes alone.

"Not much," Gabriel said. "Archangels, extra-powerful gods, maybe, if the angel's _really_ low on juice, a witch working for a demon like Azazel or Crowley, aaaand...that's about it." Sam noticed the uncomfortable, guilty look flitting through his eyes, but he said nothing. Better to wait until he was sure or Gabriel said something himself than to jump to conclusions. "Anyway. Cassie's been running the bayou circuit, from Florida to Louisiana. But before you go chasing after him wih some harebrained idea, Dean-o, lemme tell you something: Castiel has been murdering people. Murdering them, mutilating them, and leaving their bodies around for others to find. I don't know if the spell has changed him or is controlling him, but if you go in there unprepared, you'll never come back out. Trust me, big boy, whatever's got a hold on Cassie's not gonna let him go just 'cause you asked him nicely to come back." Dean's jaw tightened, his mouth a grim line. He had to go after Cas. He had to.

"Okay, so," Sam said, "you got any idea what it is we're hunting?" Gabriel gave him a look and a long-suffering sigh.

"You won't believe me if I tell you." Sam waited for Dean to answer with his usual "try us," but the older Winchester kept a stony silence.

"Try us," Sam said, officially weirded out to be stealing Dean's line, especially without so much as a peep from his brother.

"Pocahontas," Gabriel said, completely serious, "gone dark side."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the short chapter yay xD" i shall try to work on that. Cas comes in next chapter :D Crowley too~! Also. Cas' appearance in this chapter is based off a pic i found on tumblr that i saved but i refreshed before i could get the author down and i don't know if this is copyright infringement or not? OTL does anybody know how to source it?


	3. In Which Crowley is Confused

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As promised, here are Crowley aaaaand...Castiel!
> 
> Well, sort of.
> 
> Recommended listening for this chapter: Voodoo by Godsmack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three chapters in one day? I'm definitely on a roll. Counting these three, i have five beta'd and two more in the works :3 carry on, my wayward children, and feel free to leave me words in the comment box ;w; please?

The muggy bayou air was close and sticky, the ubiquitous fog clinging to Castiel's dirty bare skin. His blue eyes were devoid of any emotion as he lifted the struggling trucker by his shirt front, the massive set of antlers sprouting from his head accentuating his characteristic head-tilt. With no warning, he threw the trucker with a flick of his wrist, keeping him pinned to a live oak tree with the merest trickle of angel mojo remaining in his twisted form.

"You have not paid your dues," he said solemnly, his rumbly baritone voice as flat and empty as his eyes.

"N-no!! Please! I don't know what you're talking about! Just let me go!" the hapless trucker babbled. Castiel smiled, a mirthless, toothy grin eerily reminiscent of his Leviathan possession.

"You should have paid her," he said, his reproachful expression childlike, "when she gave you the chance." He scuffed the boggy ground with one bare foot, lowering his head, and charged the man, impaling him against the tree with his horns. The trucker's scream turned into a gurgle as blood flooded his punctured lungs, his eyes starting to glaze over in death. "No, no, you don't get to leave yet," Cas told him, almost affectionately. He withdrew his horns, straightening, and cracked his knuckles. Without changing expression in the slightest, Castiel dug his fingers into the man's sternum and ripped his rib cage open. The trucker howled in agony, writhing in Cas' iron grasp.

"Castiel. Quite a change in you, ducky," Crowley said, leaning against a tree. "Mind telling me why you fed my hellhound to that loathsome reptile?" Castiel sighed in irritation. When Cas snapped bloody fingers, the trucker froze, a spurt of blood stopped in midair, halfway through leaping from his chest. Cas turned, crossing his arms across his blood-spattered chest, leaving read streaks where his fingers touched.

"Do I know you, demon?" he asked coldly. Crowley's eyebrows rose.

"I'll say," he confirmed. "Somebody worked a number on you, mate, sure as sure." Castiel's eyes narrowed.

"Begone from here, demon. Neither my master nor I wish anything to do with you."

"You master, huh? I wasn't aware you and Dean had progressed that far in your relationship," Crowley snarked. Castiel's eyes went wide. He looked positively shellshocked. Behind him, the trucker dropped to the earth, blood splattering to the wet ground, crumpling like a broken rag doll with a pathetic moan as he died.

"Dean," Castiel breathed. "I know Dean." Crowley stared.

"What _happened_ to you?" he queried incredulously. Cas snapped out of it, slamming Crowley up against a different tree. Crowley's eyes went wide. "What the hell?"

"Why are you here, demon?" Castiel demanded flatly, holding out his hand for the soul. The bright whorl of light condensed into a tight little ball as it collected on the angel's palm, and when Cas closed his fist it disappeared, lighting his skin from within, but patterns of skin like tattoos remained stubbornly unlit. Crowley wriggled on the tree, trying to get loose.

"Well," he said, slightly out of breath, "maybe because that trucker's soul was _mine_ , fair and square. Not only did you kill the hounds I sent for him, you stole it. I came to find out how and why the hell you did it." Castiel shrugged his bare shoulders.

"It is none of your concern what my master has me do," he said coldly. Crowley looked indignant, struggling on the tree.

"Well you can tell Dean to bug out of my business, feathers!" he snapped. Castiel smiled his mirthless smile, shaking his head.

"...Dean...is not my master," he stated. "But my master has a message for you: stay away from us." His angel blade slid into his hand, but it didn't look right. The heavy silver of the blade was tarnished and blackened, and the edges looked dull where they weren't eaten away into craters. It flickered, as though it wasn't solidly anchored in reality. Something flared up in Cas' eyes again, something bright and alive but feeble. His hold on Crowley dissipated. "Go!" he grunted. Crowley didn't need telling twice. He disappeared, leaving a very confused broken angel sitting by the mangled body of the demon-dealing trucker, cradling his too-heavy horned head in his bloody hands. His angel blade was nowhere to be seen.

Suddenly, he stood, his eyes dead once more. Turning to the trucker, he ripped his heart out without a second thought, and then he was swallowed up by the thick fog of the swamp, leaving the twisted corpse to be consumed by the makers of the marsh's ever-present susurrus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will now go sit in the corner and think about what I've done. I'm sorry Cas bby ;n;


	4. In Which Crowley and Dean Talk, and Gabriel is Amazed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley tattles to Dean, who straps on his shining armor and drives towards the rescue! Sam is annoyed and Gabriel learns stuff. Important stuff.

Dean was perched on the edge of his bed, taking a restless break from his interminable pacing. Sam was researching Pocahontas at the library and Gabriel had gone with him. Dean was practically climbing the walls. Sam would be fine with Gabriel here to keep an eye on him, and much as Dean was loath to leave him, Cas was family, too; he needed Dean more than Sam did right now. Suddenly, his mind was made up. Quickly, he packed his bags and tossed them into the Impala. He was going to find Cas. South Carolina wasn't that far from the bayous, after all.

"Hello, Dean," Crowley said from behind him. He sounded frazzled, Dean thought, spinning to face him with Ruby's knife in hand, and he looked it, too. "Put the frog-sticker down, idiot. I'm here to lodge a complaint about your nutty angel."

"Cas? Where is he?" Dean demanded, circling Crowley warily.

"Put that nasty little toothpick away, moron," Crowley drawled. "Then we'll have a nice talk like civilized people." Dean laughed, but there was no amusement in the frigid sound.

"Yeah, right, like I'm really that stupid," he scoffed. Crowley shrugged.

"Well, with you boys, it's always a possibility," the demon replied with a can't-hurt-to-try air.

"Hahaha, yeah, no. Shut up," Dean snapped. "What do you know about Cas?" Crowley's stare was unamused.

"Quite a lot," he answered nonchalantly. "Not trustworthy, for one thing, and he likes it if you pull his hair while he's sucking you off." Dean bristled.

"Cas has never done anything of the sort and you know it, dickbag," he growled. "Get to the point before I gut you like a fish." Crowley smirked.

"What's the matter, Dean, jealous?" he taunted. "That angel of yours has a very talented mouth. Quite silver-tongued for a holy tax accountant, wouldn't you say?"

"Shut. Up," Dean snarled, his voice low and dangerous. "Where's Cas?"

"Feeding my hounds to one of those good-for-nothing dinosaur relics you call alligators," Crowley replied. "He's got a new 'master,' by the way. He bends over for just about anybody, doesn't he? Then again, I suppose after he pulled you from Hell, you pathetic sack of maggots, the bar was set pretty low, wasn't it?"

"If you ain't got nothin' worthwhile to say, Crowley, I'd suggest you haul your smarmy ass the Hell outta here before I rip you several new ones," Dean snapped. 

"Temper, temper. Without Cassie here to pull that stick out of your ass, you're quite excitable," Crowley sniffed. "I saw him in New Orleans a few minutes ago, mud monkey. Good luck finding him in that putrid swamp." Without further warning, Crowley disappeared, leaving Dean brandishing his knife at nothing. Fuming about demons and their asshattery, he climbed into his car and drove off, Metallica blasting through the speakers.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When Gabriel and Sam returned to the motel to find Dean, his car, and all his gear gone, they arrived at the same conclusion.

"The idiot left to find Cassie," Gabriel sighed, flopping into a chair. "My Dad, can't that guy just calm the fuck down enough to plan things out first?"

"Lay off the insults, will you?" Sam answered. "He's my brother. He usually does. Plan things out first, I mean." Gabriel frowned thoughtfully.

"Then what's got him champing at the bit this time?" the youngest archangel asked, summoning a Snickers bar out of nowhere. Unwrapping it, he bit off the end, munching happily as he gazed up at the pensive Sam, awaiting an explanation.

"Probably the fact that this is Cas we're worried about," Sam said. "You know how he feels about him." Gabriel nodded, accepting Sam's reasoning.

"Of course, Crowley's little visit might have had something to do with it," the archangel mused. Sam stiffened from where he was rooting through his bag. 

"Crowley?"

"What, you mean you didn't notice the sulphur outside?" Gabriel asked, rolling his eyes as he bit off another chunk of Snickers bar. "Wind blew most of it away, but still. My spidey-senses are tingling."

"Not all of us _have_ 'spidey-senses,'" Sam replied irritably. "Next time you sense demon, by all means, feel free to let me know. Not like that's of life-or-death importance or anything." Gabriel rolled his eyes, gesturing to his face in a circular gesture.

"Hellooo? Archangel? You don't have to worry about demons anymore, Sammich."

"And what if they've got warding?" Sam challenged.

"I can feel that a mile out, Sammy. Kinda obvious."

"Holy oil?" 

"Touché," Gabriel sighed after a moment. "Highly unlikely, but possible, I'll grant you that." He shrugged. "Welp. Hurry up and call him so's I can find him before he gets hurt. Cassie'll rip him apart without a second's thought. Providing good old Dean-o actually manages to _find_ the elusive bastard, that is. Given his reputation as a hunter and Crowley's tendency to babble when he's terrified out of his wits, I'd say we've got about the time it takes to get from here to wherever Cas is."

"You really think he'll pick up the phone if he's trying to run from us?" Sam asked. Gabriel shook his head, grinning smugly.

"No, but I could prob'ly follow the signal to wherever his phone is," the archangel explained, gulping down the rest of his chocolate. "So call him already." Poofing a grape lollipop out of nowhere, he unwrapped it, made a barely-even-half-assed attempt at tossing the wrapper in the general direction of the trash can, and stuck the candy in his mouth, gazing expectantly up at Sam.

Sam raised an eyebrow. "You can do that?" he asked. "Trace the signal, I mean." Gabriel rolled his eyes.

"Duh. It's a little turtle with a second bomb shelter strapped on top of it compared to how fast I can go. As long as the call goes through, I can find him." Sam looked mildly impressed.

"Can Cas do that, too?" he asked, already punching in Dean's number. Gabriel shrugged, spreading his arms and smirking like the cat who caught the canary as he attached a sliver of Grace to the outgoing signal.

"Probably, if he thought of it," Gabriel said, "but don't you go telling him, now. 'S my job to teach my baby bro, and I'll do it when he's ready for it." A mischievous light danced in his eyes as he felt the signal reach Dean's phone, which was halfway across Georgia by now. Blowing a kiss to Sam, all class clown showing off for the (gigantic, incredibly hot) shy nerd, he disappeared with the sound of flapping wings and an explosion of sparkles. He appeared, invisible, in the backseat of Dean's Impala. Dean was wholly focused on the task of racing to Louisiana like a bat out of hell, his grip white-knuckled on the steering wheel as he nearly doubled the speed limit; the Impala's roar as she rocketed down the empty highway, one of the most exhilarating noises Dean had ever heard under normal circumstances, failed to improve his mood in the slightest. Led Zeppelin blared from the speakers, so loud that Gabriel could almost see Dean's bones vibrating with it. 

Concentrating hard so as to spare as little of his frustratingly tiny fraction of remaining Grace as possible, he pushed a tiny label of it onto Dean, intending to latch it on between his shoulder blades in order to be able to instantly find him and keep tabs on him; however, a kind of blue lightning he recognized as Cas' Grace flared protectively and possessively to life inside the Winchester, crackling and humming beneath the human's skin, clearly claiming Dean for its (and Cas') own and threatening to fry off anything Gabriel tried to mark the hunter with. The Trickster was surprised. There was no way the Grace Castiel left in Dean after rebuilding him and rescuing him from Hell could have flourished and gained such free rein to move about inside the hunter without his soul's permission and, holy shit, Gabriel realized as he felt the blinding, white-hot electricity of the Grace snapping at him, _encouragement_. Knowingly or not, Dean had encouraged the tiny scraps of Grace left inside him until they could have taken down anything that tried to possess him, be it demon or ghost. _Anti-possession tattoo is_ so _not necessary,_ Gabriel thought dazedly, awestruck by the unbreakable bond his brother and his chosen hunter had formed and maybe the tiniest bit jealous. Maybe. This, though its full potential was not yet realized, was at least as strong as any that had formed during the days of the Nephilim, possibly stronger. The Grace, usually cradled and nurtured within Dean's soul, now spread protectively over it like the swirling outer core of the Earth over the inner, lashed out ferociously at the tiny tendril of Grace Gabriel had mistakenly left within its reach like a mother dragon protecting its egg. Hurriedly, Gabriel pulled the little string back, just barely in time to avoid having Grace he couldn't afford to lose getting shredded like a goldfish in a vicious swarm of bloodthirsty piranhas. 

Gabriel shrugged. He knew the feel, now, of Cas' Grace twined with Dean's soul, so he'd be able to find it easily. That strong of a bond was hard to miss, even when it was dormant, now that he knew what he was looking for. Somewhat shaken, though really he shouldn't have been surprised, he flew off back to Sam. 

As the archangel left, the Grace slowly retreated back into Dean's soul, slipping between his sigil-covered ribs and thereby erasing its signal, sensing the danger to be over. Dean remained totally oblivious as he shot down the empty highway. He would have to stop for gas soon, the fuel meter told him, but Dean had no intention of stopping for any other reason. He'd failed Cas too many times. He refused to do it again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted early for baal_lov, who is a super nice and awesome reader who i love forever because wow first comment ;u; thank you friend and please enjoy


	5. In Which Castiel Reflects on Green

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas thinks about things, and Dean fails to notice the source of the (metaphorical) ticking noise (not the legos in the heater).

Castiel approached the black altar, stony and cold as the rocks themselves. The heart he held in his hand still pulsed occasionally, drawing dark blood from some nether world and sending it splashing wetly onto the dusty floorboards of the abandoned sugar mill. For the past century, anyone who had tried to purchase the building had died horribly. It was rumored that a foreign prince had met his demise amidst the cobwebby, musty old empty building on the riverbank. Demolition crews had always let it slide, or ignored it completely, but the dilapidated mill never fell. Local delinquents did not dare graffiti its dubious wooden walls, giving the place a wide berth. Dismissing the reverie with mild annoyance at himself, Cas placed the spastic, sporadically beating heart upon the altar. Taking out his angel blade, he held it over the convulsing muscular organ, muttering the spell words that sent the soul he'd stolen from Crowley dripping down the blade, dripping onto the heart like little pearls. Finishing the incantation, Castiel stabbed the heart, his sword easily tearing through the thick muscle and burying itself in the altar. 

A burst of dark lightning flashed out from the heart, and the soul's tortured cry echoed around the empty mill, eerie and terrifying. Castiel rolled his head on his neck, popping the joints, utterly unaffected. Drawing the blade, dripping unearthly blood and blackening soul, he sheathed it in the tiny remnant of his Grace to which he still had access. It shuddered and screamed its protest at having such a base, filthy, corrupted thing shoved inside it, but the darkness wrapped tight around his heart rose up like a cobra from its coils, swaying, paralyzing the crippled Grace with a cobra's hypnotic, blood-chilling gaze, and the tattered thing once so holy and pure quieted, accepting the revolting blade like a squeamish person accepting a dead, rotting, half-gutted rat thrust at them, but a rebellious, curiously green-hued mutter ran through it. Frowning, the darkness quelled it. Leaving the sacrifice for his master, as he had been taught, Castiel turned back whence he had come, disappearing down the trap door into the dank, dingy tunnel.

The tunnel was wet and muddy, with at least two inches of murky, rancid water seeping through the walls to lie on the floor. It was filled with rot and dead things and things best left undescribed. Castiel, however, waded through it without a care. His dirt-colored pants were bound to his legs just under the knee, leaving him free to wander through water even calf-deep without the discomfort of wet clothing. Not that he would have cared about that, anyway; he was more of a machine now than he had ever been. He navigated the dark, suffocating tunnel with an ease born of long practice, climbing out into the fresh air near a clump of ferns and some stumps on the bank of a mere, around twelve feet deep, that wasn't really separated from the rest of the broad upwelling of water like a huge puddle lying atop the loose earth. Shaking himself like a wet dog, Castiel strode into the questionable waters, swimming for the overhang on the far side. He ignored the scaly brush of an alligator passing him, heedless of its warning rumble. He made a beeline for the large boulder hiding the entrance to his cave, the cave he wasn't sure his master knew about. The darkness told him to tell his master, but the Grace it bound and constricted had overpowered it on that decision, an occasion the tiny tail of it left hanging free remembered with fierce joy.

Arriving at the cave mouth, Castiel heaved himself up onto the pebbly dirt of the cave floor by his arms, rolling over onto his back, resting his heavy antlers on the ground, legs dangling still in the water. Here, in this cave, he could _feel_ a little, wrest control away from the darkness for a while. It wasn't much, but it was all he had. He suspected the symbols carved into the walls, symbols that looked so familiar but which Cas could never place, had something to do with it. Hauling himself onto dry land, Castiel crawled over to the pile of leaves, Spanish moss, fern fronds, and other vegetation he used for a resting place, a place for meditation, to try and yank himself free of the thing controlling him. 

Today, though, Castiel was trying to remember Dean. He remembered warmth, plaid, a smile, the smells of gunpowder and whiskey and leather, something black and sleek and shiny, but most of all he remembered _green_. Why green? he wondered. He couldn't place it, and the blackness inside fought tooth and nail to hide Dean from him. He couldn't fathom why. Absently he rubbed his horns against the wall, dislodging some of the velvety covering lower down on them, concentrating hard on the green.

"I like green," Castiel decided, nodding to himself. "Green is my favorite color."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Dean's lips were sealed in a tight, grim line as he tore through Alabama, the night constricting around him, held at bay by the loud, powerful strains of AC/DC rocking through the speakers. Sam had called him several times, but Dean hadn't picked up. Dean had to get to Cas as fast as possible, and driving at this speed tested the limits of his reflexes and his skills.

"Hold on, Cas, buddy," he growled. "Hold on. I'm coming. Don't you worry, I'll be there 's soon 's I can." He didn't know if Cas could even hear him at this point, but he wasn't going to leave him to suffer all alone if he could hear him.

The Impala barreled down the highway, she and her occupant united in their purpose. She was a black shadow striving for all the speed she could muster, racing against the dawn. 

But the one thing of which none of them knew was the cloaked hex bag tucked into the pocket of Dean's jacket, drawing him like a magnet to the New Orleans bayous, intercepting the signals of anything but his first instincts and hiding them away, leaving Dean dangerously unstable and vulnerable. There was a trace of something angelic in that hex bag, something powerful enough to stop the Grace traces in Dean's soul in their tracks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter is shooooort xD" my beta is having problems with her skype but i'll have her go over my latest developments ASAP. Please do leave me comments ;w;


	6. In Which Gabriel Bothers Sam and Bobby

Sam had unknowingly mimicked Dean in taking up his habit of interminable pacing. "We should go after him," he insisted. "You said yourself Cas will kill him if he waltzes in on him like this." Gabriel, who was sitting Indian-style on Sam's bed, groaned in frustration, flopping backwards onto his back.

"Sammy, we've been over this a billion times," he pleaded. "With that much of Cassie's Grace inside him, there is no way he'll kill him. He wasn't kidding about that 'profound bond' business, Kiddo. They're fuckin' _soul mates_. Fucked up or not, in no state could my brother ever murder yours."

"But if this spell--or whatever the hell it is--can make Cas hurt and kill innocent people, how can we be sure he'll be able to hold back from doing the same to Dean?" Sam persisted. "Look, Gabriel, Cas is like a brother to me, but I don't think he'll be able to break the spell's hold on him." Gabriel made an irritated noise, propping himself up on his elbows.

"Come on, Sam, I thought you were supposed to be the smart one. The last time somebody tried to mind-control Cassie into killing Dean, your idiot brother thought the Tablet was what got him loose. It wasn't the damn Angel Tablet that freed him from that redheaded bitch, it was your favorite squirrel! Seriously, Sammy, wake up and smell the pheromones! I'm pretty damn sure 'I need you' isn't the only thing Dean-o meant." Sam opened his mouth and shut it again, holding up a hand, his other hand resting on his hip as he stopped pacing.

"What the hell are you talking about?" he demanded. "Redhead? 'I need you'? Am I missing something?"

"Never mind, Sammy; a magician never reveals his secrets," he said impatiently. "Point is, Cassie's got Dean-o wound up so tight inside he couldn't kill him even if he wanted to. Which he doesn't, the douchebag controlling him does. Anyway." He grew more serious. "Think about it, Samsquatch. Would Dean want you to abandon the hunt when you're so close? Unless I'm very much mistaken, one of the reasons he knew he could leave was because he knew you were here to finish the job, Kiddo." Sam glared balefully at him.

"Are you seriously trying to guilt trip me into hunting a psychotic goddess wannabe solo?" he asked incredulously. Gabriel shook his head.

"Not solo," he corrected. "You've got me here to save your bacon, don't'cha?"

Sam sighed, feeling vaguely betrayed. "True," he said, collapsing in a chair, resting his elbows on his knees and burying his face in his hands. He felt awful to be even considering letting Dean go. He should be out there right _now_ , trying to catch up to Dean and helping him rescue Cas, if not convincing him to come back. Gabriel shot him a keen look, seeing straight through him.

"Sam. I need you to trust me on this," he said, rolling off the bed. Flying over to Sam's side (it was faster, and what's the point of being all-powerful if you can't be lazy now and then?), he set his hands on his shoulders, gazing firmly into Sam's eyes until the hunched-over hunter looked up at him. "This is something the two of them need to work out on their own," he said. "Don't ask how I know; it's an archangel thing. Best thing we can do to help them is to hunt down the goddess thingies until we can get a clear shot at the head honcho-ess. First step is to take out Pocahontas, okay?" Sam looked at him searchingly for a moment, and eventually he nodded.

"Okay," he sighed heavily, "okay." He was quiet for a minute more, thinking. "I'm going to call Bobby, bring him up to speed." Gabriel nodded, patting Sam's shoulder and smiling reassuringly, the emotion and the expression sincere.

"Good idea, Kiddo," he said gently. Realizing he was being far too straightforward, he abruptly fluttered away, back to the bed. Sam straightened, no longer quite so harassed by the whirling flurry of conflicting emotions inside, and called Bobby, watching Gabriel amuse himself by building chocolate miniatures of anything that popped into his head.

"Sam," Bobby answered as Gabriel added the finishing touches to his Coliseum, which was decorated with little naked figures that looked a little too much like Sam for the younger Winchester's comfort and had two men in the central arena (Sam really hoped they were only wrestling), "where the hell've you been, boy? You were supposed to call me this morning."

"Sorry, Bobby," Sam said. Gabriel set the Coliseum aside and began sculpting a giant rubber duck with two attractive girls on its back out of a block of marbled dark and white chocolate he'd conjured out of nowhere. "Some...things came up."

"That don't sound good. What kinda things?" Sam blew out a breath, running a hand through his hair. Gabriel snickered as he started on a bust of Sam, except he gave him a huge handlebar moustache.

"Where do I even start?" he asked. "Well, Gabriel's alive, and he showed up in the Impala today." Gabriel cheered, winking at Sam and planting a kiss on the chocolate replica's cheek.

"The Trickster? What's he want?" Gabriel stuck his tongue out at the phone.

"Us to kill the monster we're already hunting. And get this: there's more than one." The archangel, tiring of playing with chocolate, sent them all over to Sam to circle around his head with a lazy flick of his fingers.

"More'n one? Damn it, boy, how many are there?" Sam was mildly perturbed by the flying, vaguely disturbing figurines, but he ignored them and Gabriel as the short caramel blond stretched, catlike, out on Sam's bed.

"Even he doesn't know," Sam said. "Wanna know what this one is?" Gabriel snickered at Sam's thoughts, rolling onto his back and summoning a ball of yarn (borrowed from a weaver in the mountains of Austria--it was easier than creating his own), which he proceeded to keep in the air by virtue of all four limbs, giving himself cat ears and a tail (actually illusions, much like the chocolate; he had to keep up the pretense that he was fine and illusions were easier than the real deal). Sam stared.

"Spit it out, boy."

"Pocahontas," Sam said, his voice saying he could still barely believe it himself, as he shook his head to clear it of the picture of Gabriel playing with yarn. "Apparently, when we ganked Dick, it released this huge wave of pure evil, corrupting the most powerful things it could. And the Disney princesses, who are apparently minor goddesses because so many people worship them, got hit. Gabriel said that they weren't hurting anybody before, just reliving their happily-ever-after loops over and over again, but when the Leviathan wave got them, they...well...usually they killed their Prince Charming and went serial killer."

"Makes sense," Bobby admitted grudgingly after a few moments of silence. "Crazy as hell, but it all fits. Question is, why are we trusting the freaking Trickster?" Gabriel scowled, ears going flat and his tail flicking as he sent the yarn ball flying at the phone Sam held and, by extension, Sam's head. The orbiting chocolates scattered like a flock of frightened pigeons, hurrying out the window and away; Gabriel let them disappear as soon as they'd rounded a corner and gotten out of Sam's sight to conserve his Grace.

"It all fits, Bobby," Sam said, deftly dodging the hefty ball of wool and glowering at Gabriel, who smirked and winked, tail curling around his side and over his lap as his feet dangled over the edge of the bed. He sent the ball back to its mountain shed. "The descendants of the colonists, the Native American girl protected by the Croats, the description. He also gave me his blade."

"And Dean is going along with this?" Gabriel snorted derisively, disappearing his ears and tail.

"Dean...doesn't trust him," Sam said, ignoring the archangel now perched on the ceiling and waving cheekily at him. "Cas is cursed, and apparently he's killing people. Gabriel showed us a picture, Bobby; he's really messed up. Dean took off while we were at the library." Briefly, he explained about Crowley and what Gabriel had said about the "profound bond."

"Put the damn Trickster on the phone," Bobby said after a moment of digestive silence. Sam held the phone out to Gabriel with a warning glare, who took it and cheerfully ignored Sam's cautionary look.

"Hiya," he chirped. "I'm Gabriel, you may have heard of me. If you're gonna give me the whole make-Sammy-cry-and-I'll-blow-your-brains-out speech, that's okay, I get it. I kinda got the same vibe from Dean earlier, but I'm very serious about Sam." Sam facepalmed audibly, but Gabriel ignored him. "Guess if he wants me to meet you, he must be as serious as me. Sorry I can't introduce you all to my Dad, he's a bit absent at the moment."

"Listen, you, keep your sticky fingers off my boy," Bobby snapped. "He's been through enough, no thanks to you, I might add, and he don't need you screwing him over any more."

"Aww, Sammy, I think he likes me!"" Gabriel said. Sam had no words.

"Anyway, Bobby, there'll be plenty of screwing going on, I assure you, but if it makes you feel better, we'll wait till we're married."

"Gabriel!" Sam hissed.

Gabriel held up his free hand in a placating gesture. "Okay, okay, Sammich, cool it," he said, chuckling.

"I don't know what you want with him," Bobby said curtly, "but you'd better watch your step, boy." Gabriel sighed. 

"Look, Bobby," he said, "let me set up a few extra wards here and then I'll come over there and we can talk, 'kay? Here, talk to Sammy. I'll be there in a few." Without further warning, he put the phone into Sam's hands and fluttered off, scrawling sigils on the walls.

"Hi, Bobby," Sam said tiredly, interrupting his adoptive father's tirade. "Sorry. He's...well, he gave us a way to kill the things, at least."

"If he even gave you the real deal," Bobby snorted, disgruntled. "The hell is the matter with him?"

Sam was about to reply when the flapping of wings alerted him to Gabriel's departure. There was a strange delay before he heard him talking with Bobby, almost three seconds, and Sam frowned. That wasn't right. Angel transportation was instantaneous. Either Gabriel had made a stop along the way, or something was very, very wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeee, Gabriel is too much fun to write eue sorry for the wait; my beta just had a chance to look at what I've got written a couple days ago and then I had to smack down some trolls on tumblr oops. Like this? Have any suggestions? Please do leave me a comment, positive or otherwise. I know you are out there, my dear, sweet readers. I can only hope you're having as much fun reading this as I am writing it :'33


	7. In Which Dean Goes Poaching

Whatever Gabriel had said to Bobby, it had assuaged the grizzled old hunter's concerns, and Bobby gave Sam the go-ahead to work with him, though he warned Sam to be careful. Sam agreed, and they said their goodbyes and hung up.

"I like him," Gabriel announced. He was perched on the edge of Sam's bed, a blue Jolly Rancher dyeing his mouth a brilliant aquamarine.

"He's a good man," Sam said, knowing that was the understatement of the century. "What'd you even say to him?"

"Oh, not much," Gabriel said nonchalantly. "Small fry. We discussed the weather, I asked him for your hand in marriage, that kinda stuff." Sam gazed reproachfully at him for a long moment.

"You're not gonna drop that, are you?" he asked suddenly. Gabriel cocked his head in a manner eerily reminiscent of his brother.

"Drop what?" he asked innocently, a cherry lollipop appearing between his lips.

"The whole..." Sam gestured vaguely. "Hitting on me thing," he came up with eventually. A flicker of sadness ran through Gabriel's eyes, but he hid it immediately, instantly on his guard, though he pretended otherwise.

"Nope," he said, a little too cheerfully. Sam sighed.

"Look. I appreciate that you're helping us, really, I do. But please don't...don't do that." He was quiet for a moment, debating whether he should add the next part. If he was reading this wrong, it would give Gabriel unlimited ammunition with which to tease him mercilessly. "Unless...."

"Unless?" Gabriel repeated, voice and face inscrutable, when it became clear that Sam wasn't going to finish it on his own. A keen gleam of interest kindled in his eyes when he heard Sam's next words.

"Unless you mean it," Sam said finally, looking Gabriel dead in the eye. Gabriel pursed his lips thoughtfully, thinking hard. 

"Sure, Sammy," he said slowly. "I can do that." 

"Thank you," Sam said, relieved and a little hopeful, though he kept both hidden. 

Gabriel, however, had flown. The youngest archangel was horribly, horribly afraid of commitment, and the fact that a certain puppy-eyed moose had him seriously considering it had him more terrified still. He needed to talk to somebody, he thought, pausing to rest his tiring wings, perched on a park bench in the middle of God-knows-where. But who to talk to? He was interrupted from his pondering of his dilemma when a four-year-old with curly dark hair and bright brown eyes pointed to him.

"Mama!" she cried. "That man has wings!" His eyes widened. His wings were showing? That was never a good sign, especially when people's eyes weren't burning out. He tried to pull them back in, hide them from view, but all he ended up being able to do was fold them tightly against his back. They were nowhere near as big as they should have been, only about six feet apiece, but they were still big enough to draw unwanted attention. 

"Shitshitshitshit," Gabriel hissed, flapping into the air. To his surprise, he remained on the earthly plane. Swooping up into cloud cover and ignoring the chill he wasn't supposed to be able to feel, he focused on his dwindling Grace. With some concentration, he deduced, he would be able to cross the angelic plane as he normally did, but it would be draining. Very, very draining. Soaring higher, he glided along towards where he could feel his blade, knowing that where it was, Sam was also. Thankfully, they were only a few hours away if he flew at this pace, which was good. It would give him time to figure out what the Hell was happening to him.

Sam, meanwhile, had made himself accept Gabriel's departure without comment, settling down to finish his research, though it seemed to have lost some of its usual luster. Shaking off any feelings of melancholy, Sam set to work pinpointing the dark goddess' location.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Castiel's eyes flicked open. Groaning in protest of the waking world, he rolled over, curling more tightly into a ball. A kinked branch dug into his ribs, making him growl as his blue eyes popped right back open. A particularly verdant fern frond protruded from his bed of vegetation, dangling right in front of his nose. Suddenly he jolted upright, tugging the frond free of its entanglement.

"Dean," he breathed, eyes round, a smile lighting up his face. "He's coming today." Suddenly he frowned, looking around at the chaotic state of his cave. The huge dark green alligator skin draped over the wall, a boulder, and a part of the floor was dulled by neglect and splotched with mud, its empty eye sockets glaring accusingly at Castiel. Bones, bits of meat, feathers, and other refuse littered the cave floor. His nest-bed was beginning to look decidedly wilted, and the stolen candles wedged in nooks and crannies were little more than colored wax drippings topped by stubs. All in all, the cursed angel decided unhappily, it was high time to clean things up a little. The darkness tightened its coils around him, hissing its repulsion at the idea, but Cas pushed it back, freeing a tiny bit more of himself and his Grace in the process.

He stood, his brows furrowing as he considered his options. Lifting his hand, he raised the bones from the floor, arranging them on the wall in a pattern that suited his taste and then melding them with the stone. The rotting meat he nudged out the door and into the mere that served as his doorstep, watching them sink or be consumed by the water's inhabitants. Then he leapt with no warning into the water, swimming for the shore. He required shrubbery. The darkness, however, closed back in as soon as he left the protection of the cave. The light in his eyes dulled, and he stilled in the water, floating like a dead man in the midmorning light, while the darkness ravaged and pillaged his Grace mercilessly in another attempt to rid all traces of Dean from him. He cried out, the sound lost in the water, his Grace thrashing and screaming as it fought the intrusion of the darkness, fought the horrid curse threatening to tear his very being apart in a futile effort to eradicate the hunter he'd pulled from hell from him.

"Cas!" Dean's unmistakable voice sliced through the darkness like a hot knife through butter. Warm arms wrapped around Cas' middle and heaved him up out of the water, the angel's struggling ceasing. His back hit the wet dirt of the bank, pebbles digging into the skin of his bare back, seeming to congregate between his shoulder blades, Dean clambering up next to him. "No, nononono. C'mon, Cas, don't you give up on me. Don't you dare give up on me. Breathe, Cas, breathe." Dean shouldn't be here, Cas thought dully, weak and dizzy from holding back the roiling, furious darkness inside. It was dangerous. After what felt like years to both of them, he coughed hoarsely, expelling murky swamp water from his vessel's lungs so he could warn him, eyes fluttering open.

"Dean." His voice was roughened further by swallowing bog water and the internal struggle raging in his Grace. Dean's face, overcome with relief, swam into focus hovering over him , bright green eyes glowing with emotion. "I'm not...not safe," he managed, wrestling fiercely with the sibilant darkness whispering to him, telling him to entice Dean to stay, to kill him once his guard was down.

"It's okay, Cas," Dean told him firmly. "It's okay. I'm here." His eyes tore away from Cas', and Cas could swear he felt that viridian gaze sweeping over him, making his skin prickle and something stir in his stomach. The argument in Las Cruces was forgotten, then, apparently. His horns were suddenly too heavy, pulling him down, chaining him to the earth.

"Deeean," he groaned softly, eyes sliding across to the cave for a split second and then back to Dean's face. the darkness beginning to gain the upper hand. "Dean, I can't...." Dean was starting to panic, and it showed on his face, despite his attempts to hide it.

"Cas. Hey. Cas! Talk to me, buddy," he said, his throat so dry that his voice was barely above a whisper. He sounded tired, Castiel noted absently, like he'd been up all night. "What can I do?" His hands, warm and calloused, held Cas' face, anxious emerald eyes focused like twin laser beams on Castiel's dirty, stubbly visage. The rings he wore were smooth against Cas' cheeks, hotter than Dean's skin but not unpleasantly so, especially not against the angel's chilled, clammy skin.

"Cave," Cas whispered, "cave." Then his strength failed him, and the darkness flooded back in, smothering his light furiously. Dean's jaw tightened as Castiel went slack. What cave? He looked around. Cas had been swimming when Dean had found him, but the alligator in that water, a huge, scaly beast with eyes like fire, was saying all too clearly that, since Dean was not of this swamp, he was not allowed in the water. Dean stared. There was something unnatural about its unblinking gaze, other than its crimson eyes. And then the jump of a fish made Dean notice the hollow in the wall of the bluff jutting out above the mere. Keen green eyes assessed the curve, and when Dean shifted position a little, he could've sworn he saw a chunk of rotting meat dangling from a broken bone sticking out of the wall. His eyes hardened as they switched back to the territorial alligator. Dragging Cas' unconscious form away from the water, Dean trotted back a few feet to where he'd dropped his sawed-off shotgun, flipping it into the air with the muddy toe of one boot, he caught it neatly, flicking off the safety. Bringing the gun up, wholly sure he was about to break another dozen or so laws and giving zero shits, he shot the monstrous reptile right between the eyes. It roared, rotten black blood spurting into the water, the dirty white foam its thrashing created stained dark. A great shadow dropped over the earth, and the air rumbled. When the darkness cleared, the bloated, red-eyed reptile was gone and the way was clear.

Dean did not like this part. He distrusted the water even more now that the monstrous thing was gone, but Cas had said cave, and cave he was going to get. Two swift strides had him crouching back at Cas' side, gun held in his left hand, pointed at the ground, his right checking Cas' pulse, even though switching the safety back on was long instinctive. Steady. A little slow, maybe, but steady. Rising, Dean frowned, judging the distance to the cave and the depth of the water with a quick sweep of his eye. Swiping a rock from the boggy ground, he threw it across the water at the suspicious-looking hollow. Sure enough, it sailed straight through the wall and, after a couple seconds, smacked into a wall and clattered hollowly to the ground. By Dean's reckoning, there were an extra twenty or so feet behind that façade. Bingo.

In a few minutes, Dean had a plan of action. Swimming in clothes was definitely not a good idea, so he stripped them off and wrapped them around his guns and boots (leaving his underwear on, because no way in hell was he trusting his junk to sleazy swamp water's tender mercies), tied the bundle off with his belt, and swung it across the water and into the cave (As no angry noises had come from the cave after he'd thrown the rock, Dean assumed it to be unoccupied). Dean shivered even in the tepid marsh air, rubbing his arms and feeling decidedly naked without his guns. The hex bag in his jacket pocket had gone across with his clothes; now, in only his boxers, Dean was hit with a huge wave of holy-fuck-what-the-hell-did-I-just-do. Beside him, however, Cas stirred, and Dean's attention was drawn back to his horned best friend and his dilemma.

When those blue eyes flicked open and the opened even wider at the sight of nearly-naked hunter standing next to him, almost half-clothed with clinging tendrils of mist, Dean suddenly felt like the whole of heaven was watching him through those eyes, watching and judging. And then the dark look in them cleared away, replaced by a look of confusion. _Well, that's just great,_ Dean sighed internally, preparing himself for the barrage of questions certain to follow.

"Dean? What are you doing?" Cas squinted, tilting his head even from his position on the ground. "Is that--"

"No, they're not silk. And there are no hearts," Dean denied firmly, despite the truth being blatantly obvious. In fact, he'd been hunting silk boxers for a while, and how often did you come across a sale on those? Yeah, maybe the last ones left had been black with red hearts, but like hell Dean was letting that go just because of a pattern he may or may not have liked. "We are going swimming, so if you want to haul your feathery ass off the ground and come with me, that'd be awesome."

"Swimming? Swimming where?" Cas sat up, accepting Dean's proffered hand as he got to his feet.

"To that cave over there," Dean said. "...That was the cave you meant, wasn't it? It's gonna suck if it's not, because I already chucked my clothes over there."

"Cave? What cave?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp. That was a late update. Also my chapters are super short sorry. Lots of plot in here, but there is semi-smuttiness next chapter yay Sabriel is fun to write. If I get enough comments I will perhaps do an art for teh story xD fire away, young Padawans!


	8. In Which Gabriel Gets Stuck in a Window

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So much fluff. So much. And I am not even sorry ahaha enjoy your fluff diabetes xD mostly Sabriel this chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What? The Muse of Mayhem is updating? No way!! XD yes, yes, I am back, and I hit the bloody post limit on tumblr, so I shall be writing some moar tonight hopefully. I am also on break as of 11:30 this morning so probably further writi shall ensue. Comments and kudos always appreciated :3 i might be posting a magician!Dean AU oneshot soon, too, so keep an eye out for that, yes? :D

By the time Gabriel got back to Sam's motel room, it was nearly dawn, and the hulking hunter was asleep on top of his books, pen still in hand, hair rumpled by frequent disturbances from his hand. In an effort to conserve Grace, Gabriel unlocked only the window and tried to slip through, but his middle pair of wings got stuck. He was tired, so dead tired, and he couldn't muster the energy to free himself with Grace. A cold terror dripped through him, icy goo slithering down through water: did he even have Grace enough left to do it? As the chill of the fear pooled on top of his stomach, heavy and cold, freezing solid around him, he panicked. All three pairs of wings flailed wildly, the center pair pushing uselessly against the unforgiving oblong grasp of the window frame. The other two flapped and struggled to move the archangel, but he was stuck fast. A whine escaped Gabriel as he writhed helplessly in the window's grasp, and before he knew what was happening, his own blade was pressed against his neck, his arms and the wings inside the room trapped against his sides by a muscular arm wrapped around his middle, warm but hard like cold steel. His feathers fluffed up, whether in self-defense or arousal Gabriel wasn't sure. Whichever it was, it sent adrenaline coursing through his system, thoroughly waking him up. The bobbing of his adam's apple against the sharp edge of his sword brought him out of his split-second assessment of the situation.

"All right, spit it out," Sam's voice growled in his ear. Oh, fuck. Whatever position those feathers had been in before, the surge of interest throbbing through Gabriel's body certainly sent them flying into mate-with-me-now-you-stupidly-hot-Samsquatch. Fortunately (or perhaps unfortunately; Gabriel wasn't sure), Sam couldn't read angel body language. "What are you, and why are you here?"

"Hold your horses, Samsquatch," Gabriel managed, proud of himself for how steady his voice sounded. He'd totally relaxed into Sam's iron grip, he noted absently, mildly intrigued. "It's just me." He wriggled a bit against the confines of the window frame, feeling claustrophobic panic bubble up in him again. He focused instead on Sam's arm holding him still and the hot breath he could feel cascading against his ear. Ah, that was better. "And I'm stuck."

"Right, like Gabriel would let himself be 'stuck' in a window," Sam snorted. "What are you? Shifter?" Oh, fuck. He should've told Sam about the whole Grace-drainage thing. _That_ lie was really coming back to bite him in the ass. So much for Loki the Liar.

"Cool it, Sammy," Gabriel sighed, resigning himself to the ignominious humiliation. At least Dean wasn't here to make fun of him. Making fun of people was Gabriel's job. "It really is me. The reason I need you to kill those princesses for me is 'cause they stole my Grace. 'S why they're so strong, and 's prolly why they can control Cassie."

"And how'd they get control of your Grace?" Sam persisted suspiciously.

"Remember when dear old Luci stabbed me in the chest? Yeah. Not fun. I didn't _die_ , exactly, but I kinda got...scattered. 'S weird. Anywho, they collected the bits of me floating around, bound them, then the next thing I know, yours truly is up top again! 'Cept, you know, missing, oh, about ninety-five percent of my mojo." Sam was quiet for a moment, and Gabriel began to wonder if the hunter believed him or not.

"And the wings?" Sam prompted, shifting his arm a little around the pair he held fast. _Ohhhhh._ Gabriel bit down hard on his lip to keep from making a very embarrassing noise. _Dammit, Sammy, not now,_ he pleaded mentally, trying to still his squirming in Sam's hold, trying for more pressure, more contact. "...what are you doing?"

"Sensitive," Gabriel squeaked, mortified, "to touch." With an immense effort, he controlled himself, taking a deep breath. "One of the reasons we keep them hidden." He tried to pull himself together before speaking again, his eyes screwed shut. "When our Grace runs too low, or when we choose to let them, they pop back into this plane. Keeping them tucked away is, like, the most basic...thingie. Instinct." He couldn't explain further, because Sam shifted his grip on Gabriel's wings again; a tremor shook his whole body. Fuck. If this kept up, he was not going to be responsible for his actions.

"All right, then," Sam said, removing the blade from Gabriel's throat and stowing it inside his jacket. "Silver knife, salt, holy water. You know the drill." Gabriel nodded, swallowing hard. Sam kept fucking _moving_ against his wings as he pulled the necessary items from his jacket and no way in hell was that fair. Gabriel was dying over here. Hoping Sam couldn't feel his racing pulse, Gabriel did not resist when the moose of a hunter took his forearm and opened a small cut with the silver knife. Gabriel didn't waste Grace on healing it. That would heal on its own. The cool splash of liquid across his arm was definitely holy water, and the little tiny prickles like dancing ants across his arm was salt, sticking to the inside of the tiny gash and burning like embers ( _Heh,_ thought the dwindling still-thinking part of Gabriel's mind, _Fire ants_ ). While Sam was testing to make sure he wasn't anything but what he said he was, Gabriel took in the details about him. He smelled of old books and gunpowder and soap and musk, the latter barely detectable through his clothes, but enough of a tantalizing hint was there to drive Gabriel nuts, especially with that sweet, sweet damnable pressure on his wings. _My Dad, it has been waaay too long,_ Gabriel thought. Dry spell or not, Gabriel was definitely intrigued. Sam was smart and funny and--oh, _fuck_ , he had nice hands. Gentle despite its mammoth proportions, the hand no longer being used to test for ghosts, demons, and shifters was gently loosening Gabriel's left center wing from the window.

"Okay, Gabe," he was saying, "let's get you out of here." Gabriel tried to hold still, keeping his wings tightly folded against his back. Careful as ever, Sam worked his fingers in between Gabriel's wings and the door frame, easing him through little by little. The feeling of someone else's hands buried in his golden feathers, however, was slowly robbing Gabriel of his sanity. "Sorry," Sam was saying, and to Gabriel he sounded far away and too close all at once, the sensation of Sam's muscular abdomen pressed against his wings as the hunter leaned at an awkward angle to help get the archangel loose almost too much to bear, "I know you said they're sensitive, but we have to get you loose."

"'S...fine," Gabriel managed, eyes screwed tightly shut against the wind-whipped, tempestuous sea of unrestrained waves of pleasure crashing through him, his vessel thrumming with the sheer intensity of it. It was all Gabriel could do to keep himself from coming in his pants at this point. This situation, he thought in a fleeting instant of lucidity, was awkward in way, waaaay too many ways. Here he was, an all-powerful archangel, reduced to a quivering, whimpering mess under the unintentionally mind-blowing ministrations of an oblivious (probably, Gabriel figured later, more intentionally ignorant out of courtesy than unknowing of it entirely) Samasaurus Rex, who had come to occupy Gabriel's thoughts more and more often (when, you know, enough of his scattered Grace had been collected enough to form conscious thoughts in the first place). It was a beautiful wonderland of a nightmare. This wasn't _fair,_ he thought in his pleasure-drunk haze, being totally at Sam's mercy and unable to fully appreciate it or reciprocate.

Gabriel eventually noticed he was babbling. In Enochian, given Sam's total lack of reaction other than a soft, unconscious soothing noise in the back of his throat. As he realized what it was he was saying, he was suddenly very, very glad Sam couldn't understand him. Every thought he'd ever had about Sam, mushy, explicit, or otherwise, was pouring out of his mouth, and more he came up with on the spot, fawning over the delicate touch of Sam's hands and the press of his weight across Gabriel's back and exactly what he wanted to do with Sam if he got the chance, his panting, almost unintelligible words growing filthier and more broken as time went on.

And then he popped free of the window, managing to angle his rearmost pair of wings so that they scraped through without incident, though they did buffet Sam over on top of Gabriel as he collapsed onto the floor. The unexpected pain of his face bashing into the rough carpet-over-concrete floor of the motel room was followed in short order by the _whumpf_ of Sam's long body landing tangled in all three pairs of wings, which, accompanied by their combined weight pressing Gabriel's weeping erection into the cloth of his underwear and jeans against the hard ground, was enough to actually make him come in his pants harder than he had in a long time, since his first time in a human vessel, maybe, with a soft, hopefully unintelligible moan of Sam's name muffled by the carpet and Gabriel's tender, bleeding nose.

"Shit, Gabriel, sorry," Sam was saying. "God, I'm sorry. Are you okay?" Typical Sam, Gabriel thought through the muzzy haze of guilty afterglow and ow-fuck-my-face. He gets knocked over and he apologizes for it. He lay still for a moment, panting against the garish, suspicious motel carpet as he tried to compose himself. His wings, meanwhile, were busily protesting Sam's attempt to free himself from them, reaching for him and wrapping around him despite his gentle rejections of their advances for several seconds before Gabriel was able to control them properly. The hot, wet evidence of Gabriel's debauchery was slowly soaking through his pants, seeping and spreading, probably onto the carpet as well. Slowly, Gabriel pushed himself upright, pulling his knees under himself and sitting up, his wings cocooning themselves around his front, feathers still fluffed aggressively.

"Yeah, Sammich," Gabriel said, offering a weak, watery grin that only made him feel guiltier inside. "Just...uh...gotta take care of something." With unnatural speed, he scrambled to his feet and fled into the bathroom, leaving behind an anxious moose afraid he'd somehow offended the archangel.

Gabriel didn't even have the strength to do more than teleport the evidence away, leaving him bone tired and his pants still wet. He sat heavily on the edge of the tub, eyelids heavy, brain sluggish. All he could think to do was take a shower and get other patches of his pants wet to avoid awkward questions, so, lethargically, he stripped his clothes off. He was so exhausted that, when his shirt and jacket got entangled in his wings and even flailing wouldn't get them off (it only made it worse), he broke down and cried like a two-year-old at the unfairness of it all. Thankfully, the hissing roar of rushing water from the showerhead covered most of it, and by the time he'd finally dried his tears, wearier than ever, the water was actually hot. Flaring his wings, he ripped the garments, realizing belatedly as they fluttered to the ground as ragged scraps that he had no others to wear and couldn't very well summon more. Fighting back another storm of tears of exhaustion, he clambered awkwardly into the tub, the sensation of warm water cascading through his feathers positively heavenly and instantly making him feel a little better despite the lack of water pressure.

When Gabriel finally emerged from the bathroom half an hour later, his pants were soaked with runoff from his wings, so he left them hung over the shower curtain's rod, wrapping an unused towel around his waist, feeling very small indeed as he shuffled back out to Sam.

He found him half asleep in a chair, book dangling from his long fingers, chin resting on his softly rising and falling chest, curtains of chestnut-brown hair falling to frame his face. Gabriel's heart ached for him. As a hunter, he worked so hard to save a bunch of ungrateful humans, often to the point of collapse, and he hadn't hesitated to help even Gabriel (who had murdered Sam's brother countless times, definitely a no-go for any sort of positive relationship with him) when he'd needed it.

Alerted by the sixth sense that kept all hunters alive, Sam stirred in his sleep, eyes fluttering open, and as the rays of the rising sun pierced the motel room with their golden light, Gabriel could've sworn that Sam Winchester bore a halo. "Gabe?" Sam asked, his soft voice coarsened somewhat by lack of sleep. "Are you--oh, here, let me get you some clothes." The book in Sam's huge hand was shut with an elegant twist and set on the table. Before Gabriel had a chance to protest, Sam was rising from his chair, the unearthly light silhouetting him transforming him into a great monolith from a lost age, regal and lithe with a natural grace not seen since the days of kings. He seemed lit from within, his eyes alive with the fire of his soul, burning fiercely despite bodily weariness, and in fire he transcended this world. Gabriel was awestruck, speechless until Sam left the timeless dawn-filled window, when the rest of the world caught up to him, hid him and smeared him in its dreary motel lights and garish coloring, but Gabriel knew he would always remember Sam as he had just seen him, the epitome of man, the crown jewel of his Father's wondrous Creation.

Gabriel shook his head, the dizziness and headache pounding away the wonder, driving away the song in his heart that made him wish he still had his horn to play, to cry to the world the praises of Sam Winchester and He who made him. It had been a long, long time since Gabriel had been so thunderstruck. The next thing the archangel knew, Sam was handing him a shirt, a shirt Sam's size and in which Gabriel would drown. It was soft from repeated wearings, and it smelled like Sam.

"Sorry it's so big," Sam said apologetically, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's all I've got at the moment. We'll get you clothes--" he yawned, and Gabriel struggled valiantly against following suit (he failed). "--later." Sam started in surprise, peering down at Gabriel when he heard him yawn. "Grace depletion would wear you out, right," he said, nodding to himself. When Gabriel's wings stretched with the rest of him as he yawned, Sam remembered the rest of what had happened during the process of loosing Gabriel from the window. "Oh, uh, sorry about...earlier. I didn't mean to offend." 

Gabriel shook his head. "It's fine, Samsquatch. You're right that angels' wings are included in our no-no square, but you didn't do anything wrong." He smiled tiredly, wings flaring behind him, though he didn't exactly instruct them to do so. "'Sides, doesn't matter. I like you. I like you lots."

Sam was startled by that small piece of information. "Tell you what, Gabriel," he said, "why don't you go put that on, then pick a bed and go to sleep. We can even cut wing-holes in it for you. Here, give me the shirt and turn around so I can measure it for you." Gabriel nodded, suddenly almost asleep on his feet. Shuffling around so that his back was to Sam, he said, "You can touch 'em, Sammy." Silently, he told them as sternly as he could manage to behave. He needn't have worried, however. Sam was discreet and he minimized the need for touching, his fingers feather-light on Gabriel's back and wings on the few occasions he touched him, murmured instructions on how to move the still-damp appendages followed without thought.

Before long, the shirt was neatly tailored to allow Gabriel's wings through. Deciding the bathroom was much, much too far away, Gabriel simply let the towel drop to the ground as he pulled the oversized shirt on over his head. It hung on him like a burial shroud, but it was comfortable and warm and the comforting scent of Sam clung to it.

"Thanks," Gabriel yawned, smiling blearily up at Sam. Sam nodded, and Gabriel shambled over to the nearest bed, which happened to be Dean's. Crawling onto the covers with aching limbs and sliding between them, he paused, glancing over his shoulder at Sam. When he spoke, his voice was very small. "...Sam?"

The hunter turned. "Yeah?"

"Thank you. For everything."

Sam was taken aback at first, but then a slow, happy smile that gave Gabriel a heartful of warm fuzzies spread across the his face, cheeks dimpling. "Happy to help."

Gabriel yawned uncontrollably, wings flaring and stretching with the rest of him. "'Night, Sam."

"Night, Gabe." Gabriel couldn't bite back a smile. Sam called him Gabe. He burrowed down under the covers, Dean's scent, gunpowder and leather and whiskey overlaid by his cologne, enveloping him. It was similar to Sam's, but the younger Winchester's smell was sharper, more bookish. Gabriel much preferred Sam's, but he was grateful for a place to sleep at this point. He curled up, wings wrapping around him. They were uncomfortably damp and cold still, but leaving them lying about felt wrong and made him feel vulnerable. They also helped mask the smell of Dean, covering it with his own. He could hear Sam getting ready for bed, heard him climb into bed and fall asleep when his breathing deepened and evened out. It was soothing, but Gabriel yearned to be closer, to cuddle and share warmth with a real, living human being as opposed to one of Gabriel's own creation, one that wasn't going to get up and leave in the morning. Gabriel's people never came out right, anyway.

Gabriel's wet wings kept him awake, and the moving air made him colder and colder until he was shivering in his little ball on Dean's bed, unable to sleep properly. All the while, the desire to crawl over into Sam's bed and sleep there was growing and growing, gnawing at Gabriel's mind. He was so, so tired and so, so cold.

Finally, Gabriel couldn't stand it anymore. Flopping his wings open (and the covers with them), he saw that Sam had shut the curtains, leaving the room thankfully dark. Only Sam's gentle breaths and the hum of the air conditioner disturbed the silence. Guilt weighing down heavy on his heart, Gabriel slid down off Dean's bed, padding across the narrow aisle between the two queens clambering into Sam's, slipping under the blankets and biting back a sigh of relief as he was met by welcoming warmth.

Sam's eyes fluttered open, peering into the darkness. "Dean?"

"Guess again, Kiddo," Gabriel whispered, hoping against hope that maybe, just maybe, Sam would let him lie with him, give him the steady reassurance of a hearbeat other than his own, calling cadence for the all-is-well sighed with every deep breath of slumber.

"Gabe? What are you doing?" Sam's voice was gentle, not accusatory. Gabriel couldn't help but wonder if this happened often, if Dean would wake up in the middle of the night and exchange whispers with Sam, find the reassurance and courage he needed to keep going under the merciful cover of the darkness. Even if they never mentioned it, Gabriel realized, just a glance or a word would be enough to remind the other of the conversation. Then he remembered that Sam needed an answer.

"I...." He had been planning to say that he had been cold, but the darkness and Sam's innocent openness born of sleepiness drew honesty out of him. "It's lonely over there. And cold. I couldn't sleep."

Sam was silent, indecisive, and the minutes stretched into years. At last, he nodded, scooting over to give Gabriel more room. "C'mere."

Boneless with relief, his stomach twisting itself into knots, Gabriel crept into bed next to Sam. "Thank you," he murmured, uncomfortably grateful. Their hands brushed as they settled in, and Sam started with surprise.

"You're cold as ice," he said. And then warm arms wrapped around Gabriel's middle, politely avoiding his wings, his chilled, clammy body tucked against Sam's muscular torso. He was like a space heater, Gabriel thought dazedly as he melted against him, eyes fluttering shut with relief, his body going totally lax.

"You're _warm,_ " Gabriel breathed, wings wrapping around Sam in an automatic reflex, and Sam's chuckle resonated around him, sonorous, smooth, and soothing.

"And you're wet," Sam told him, sounding a little more wakeful. "Now shut up and go to sleep." Gabriel had never been happier to comply.


	9. In Which Castiel Does Something Terrible

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ack! Not dead, I promise! I've been working on this fic, but my ipad died and took with it nine, ten, and what I had of eleven. I thankfully still had this and most of ten from when I emailed them to my beta. On top of the death of my ipad, I have had a sudden overload of schoolwork which sucks but I shall try to upload more often. Thank you all for sticking with me! :3

Dean's eyes narrowed. Why hadn't he tested Cas earlier? He was seriously beginning to doubt his own judgement. "Never mind, Cas," he said, shifting his weight around awkwardly.

"Okay, Dean," Cas agreed easily, but the more Dean looked at him, the more Dean was certain that this was not Cas, not really. A breeze gusted by, its cheerful gallivanting a stark contrast to the eerie, gut-twisting horror of watching this not-Cas behave like Cas, and Dean shivered involuntarily. Cas' head tilted. "Oh, you look cold. I'll take you home and we will procure clothing for you." Dean was about to protest, but Cas reached out, tapping his forehead with two fingers.

The next thing the hunter knew, he was standing ankle deep in a hundred-year-old rib cage filled with dust whose origins Dean didn't even want to think about. He didn't dare move, automatically reaching for his gun as he looked around, but it wasn't there, he remembered belatedly. Suspicious, scared green eyes, glowing like a cat's in the dim light provided by cracks in the floorboards above his head, took in the vast, seemingly empty basement pierced by occasional slivers of faint light that never reached very far before the all-consuming darkness swallowed them. He could make out vague table-like shapes and what looked uncomfortably like instruments of torture tucked away a few meters away, but for the most part, he could see only blackness. Dean stiffened, the hair on the back of his neck rising as a pair of cold, clammy hands slid up the insides of his legs, hands with webbed fingers and slick skin. He really started to freak out when he found out he couldn't move.

"A beautiful specimen, Castiel," hissed a feminine voice near his left knee as those creepy hands slid up his inner thighs. "I understand, now."

Dean saw Cas step out of the shadows, eyes dead, body stiff, at attention. "Yes, master," he said blandly. His voice was totally devoid of emotion, Dean noticed, goosebumps rippling down his back and arms. Something burst into Cas' eyes then, his shoulders shifting as though adjusting to a sudden weight, and then there was _Cas_ alive in that body again. "I would prefer if you did not touch him," said the angel, holy fire crackling and snapping in his voice in a way Dean had not heard for a long time. "He is not yours. He will never be yours."

The frigid hands disappeared from Dean's legs then, his boxers sticking uncomfortably to the slime left behind, and then one landed on the handprint he bore on his upper left arm. "No," crooned the cold woman's voice, "you're right. He would never submit to me. You, however...." The chill at Dean's back disappeared, a shadowed pale blur zipping across the space separating him and Castiel. "You, Castiel...oh, the things you could _do_ to your pretty little hunter." A pale face appeared over Cas' shoulder, its eyes like black holes, its purple tongue flicking out occasionally, a top hat complete with skull and crossbones design perched on top of a tousled, dark, 20s-flapper-girl bob cut. Dean couldn't make out much more detail in the darkness. Cas rolled his head on his neck, his mouth a grim line, and the unnatural woman laughed. "Oh, honey, the things you're _going_ to do to your pretty pretty boy toy." She leaned close to Cas' ear, whispering, "And I'm going to make you watch, make you listen to him screaming while you peel every inch of that star chart of freckles off him. That'll teach you to obey, to give up what is commanded of you." Dean, however, didn't hear that. He did see Cas' shudder, the light in his eyes dimming to the faintest glimmer. The hunter's stomach twisted. That couldn't be good.

"Got something you wanna share with the class, sister?" he demanded, voice rough. The creature behind Castiel snickered, pushing the broken angel forward.

"No, no," she said, amused, "I've got to skip out now. I'll just let dear little Cassie fill you in. See ya, sugar!" Grinning, she waggled her long, webbed fingers at him, disappearing in a puff of dark smoke and a flash of sickly green light. Dean found himself able to move, but he'd barely lifted a foot to take a step when Cas tackled him, slamming him into the wall with no regard for human frailty. All the air rushed from Dean's lungs, leaving him the barest puff for a grunt of pain.

"You thought yourself unworthy of being saved," Castiel heard himself saying, numb with horror but unable to control his own vessel. Dean was wide-eyed and clearly afraid under him, soft skin and firm muscle flexing under Cas' hands as the hunter struggled to break loose. Cas could feel the next words bubbling inexorably up, and he wanted to scream. No, no, no!! "You were right."

Dean went totally still under him, eyes huge. Cas could see his soul crumbling, his heart shattering into innumerable pieces, but the dark thing inside Cas wasn't done yet. Cas felt himself lean close, their faces millimeters apart.

"You were supposed to die when that car hit you all those years ago. You made your father sacrifice himself to save you. It's your fault he's dead. Know what else is your fault?" Castiel hissed, eyes cold and dead. "Ellen. Jo. Ash. Sam. Agent Hendricksen. All those people in the police station. Even me. Everyone. Everyone around you dies, Dean Winchester, because you being alive disrupts the natural order. But death is too good for you. _Hell itself_ is too good for you." 

Flinching at each name, Dean's broken green eyes slipped shut, hiding the tears building up in them, as the first punch, backed by angelic super strength, landed on his unresisting stomach, shoving his air out all over again. He struggled to breathe, winded, a nasty bruise blooming on his abdomen.

 

Holding him there with Grace that screamed its abject abhorrence of such cruel use, Castiel stepped back, tilting his head as he inspected him critically. Snapping his fingers, he cuffed Dean's hands to the wall with medieval-style clamps, the hunter's bare feet barely brushing the disgusting, rotting wooden floorboards. "No one can stand you. Sam only tolerates you because he feels it is his duty as his brother to care for the family screwup. How could anyone love such a useless failure as you?"

Castiel's precautions were unnecessary. Dean hung unmoving, his head bowed, a mantle shame and guilt weighing like a universe bearing down on his shoulders. He wasn't just shattered, he was _annihilated_ , burst into innumerable infinitesimal shards the size of a grain of sand. His body shuddered, trying to reboot his respiratory system, but it lacked backup from Dean himself. Eventually, Castiel noticed that Dean's lips were moving. He leaned in, trying to hear what the oldest living Winchester was saying.

"I'm...sorry, Cas," Dean was whispering, apologizing as many times as he could manage with the tiny thread of air hissing in and out of his sputtering lungs. "I'm sorry." He flinched when Castiel struck him across the face.

"Do you think that fixes anything?" he snarled. "Think about how many atrocities you have committed, Dean. Do you think an apology can even begin to make up for that? You could spend ten thousand years in hell and still have only barely begun to atone for your sins."

The blood dripping from Dean's lips to the ground were the only sounds besides his gasping, unsteady breathing, his eyes cast down.

"That's what I thought," Castiel spat. Hearing Dean's breathing begin to return to normal, he socked him in the stomach again, hard, in the same place. "You're pathetic. Tell me, Dean, if you were me, how would you exact retribution for your sins? How would you even start to fix this?" Dean was silent, sobbing for breath, so Castiel shrugged. "I could bring Sam here and slowly torture him to death while you watch. That might teach you a lesson."

Dean made a distressed noise, his head snapping up, eyes wild. "C-Cas...don't," he pleaded, broken and hoarse and unable to breathe. Speaking cost him precious oxygen that he couldn't spare.

"That's another thing," Cas said, grasping Dean's blood-streaked chin and forcing him to look into his eyes. "I don't think you are worthy of addressing me by such a familiar title, do you? No, you will address me as 'sir,' is that clear?"

Dean nodded, trying to gather enough air to answer him, but Castiel interrupted him.

"Is that clear?" he repeated sternly.

"Y-yes...sir," Dean gasped, but before he could say anything else, Castiel nodded.

"Good. Now, tell me why I shouldn't kill Sam for you."

Dean took several shuddery breaths, as deep as he could manage. "B'cause Sammy's...good," he wheezed. "Better'n me."

"Everyone is better than you, Dean, be more specific," Castiel sighed, rolling his eyes, but Dean was still speaking.

"Better'n me, an'...he doesn'...d'serve it." 

"Doesn't he?" Castiel asked, raising an eyebrow. "He may not be as much at fault as you are, but he certainly had a hand in it."

Dean shook his head doggedly, his lungs starting to work again. "No," he said. "I don' care wha'...anyone says, he doesn'...d'serve that. I'll...take his....p'n'shment."

Again Castiel hit him, knocking the wind out of him for the third time in a row. Dean was starting to turn blue. "Have it your way," he said coldly. Turning from the hunter, who hung, gasping like a fish, blood and spittle dripping in long strings to the floor from his lips, on the wall, Castiel wheeled over a rusty cart full of rustier instruments of torture. Dean gulped when he finally saw it, his insides twisting and trying to claw their way out, his whole body trembling uncontrollably, his racing heartbeat lighting up the veins in his bruises like lava streams. Castiel picked up a rusty scalpel, testing the dull blade idly, watching Dean out of the corners of his eyes. "Let's see," the horrible parody of Cas hummed. "I think we'll start somewhere nice and soft, don't you?" He turned back to face Dean, twirling the grotesque, twisted sliver of metal carelessly in his fingers. Eyes never leaving Dean's, he caressed the Winchester's side, hand sliding down his hip, pushing the black, heart-patterned boxers down, fingers tracing the dip where leg joined hip.  Dean shivered. Without warning, Castiel plunged the rusty knife deep into the flesh there, the tip scratching and scraping painfully at Dean's pelvic bone.

Dean screamed, much as he tried to bite off the sound stealing the air he couldn't survive losing. That shit _hurt_. Cas didn't give him any time to recover. Leaving the scalpel literally digging into Dean's hip, Cas stabbed Dean right through the nipple with something hard and cold and pointy with a pitted surface, its tip embedding itself in Dean's rib. A noise Dean hadn't heard himself make outside of Hell ripped from his throat, bestial and terrified and breathless agonized and pleading. Blood was spurting out of his chest and oozing from his leg, tears of shock and pain dripping down his face, his head hanging low. Cas raised an arm to stab him with a huge pair of rusty scissors, and Dean tensed.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Gabriel woke up warm, feeling safer than he could remember feeling in a long time. He nuzzled his pillow, not wanting to wake up yet. Except unless his pillow had sprouted muscles overnight, that wasn't what he was snuggled up to. Opening his eyes, he found himself cuddled up to Sam Winchester, the pair of them wrapped together like a pair of octopi, Sam's arms snug around his back. Gabriel's heart fluttered. Sam was asleep, innocently so, and clinging to Gabriel like he was a giant winged teddy bear.

God help him, Gabriel wanted to wake up this way every day for the rest of his life, curled up warm and safe in Sam's arms. Sam's face looked so peaceful in slumber, long hair tumbling across his face and down his neck, pink lips parted slightly, breathing in long, slow pulls that made his massive chest rise and fall against Gabriel's. Gabriel wanted to kiss him. He wanted it so, so badly. All he'd have to do would be lean up and cover those rose-petal lips with his own. But no, Sam would never trust him again if he did that. With a start, Gabriel realized he'd fallen in love with Sam Winchester, one of the two most dangerous men on the planet, every little monster's nightmare, the boy with the demon blood but the heart of what an angel should have been. Gabriel's feathers stood up in fear, edges sharpening, but he quieted them, sighing.

"I love you, Sam-I-Am," Gabriel whispered, wings hugging the Winchester affectionately. Gabriel was too sleepy and warm to be scared, too sleepy and warm to question it.

Sam stirred, holding Gabriel tight to him in a one-armed embrace while he yawned, rubbing at his eyes with his other hand. Gabriel could have died then and there and been happy. "Wh...oh," he said, disentangling himself quickly from Gabriel. "Sorry. I should have warned you, I'm a cuddler."

Gabriel missed him already. "'S fine," he said with a sleepy grin. "I am, too." Regretfully, he got up, pajama shirt billowing around him, wings tucked neatly against his back.

Sam sat up, stretching. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Pretty good, Bullwinkle," Gabriel said, tugging his borrowed shirt down a bit lower even though it hung around mid-thigh. "Batteries're still pretty drained, though. Sorry."

"Not your fault," Sam said, swinging his legs out of bed. Gabriel struggled to keep his eyes to himself. "You know, now that I'm thinking about it, Cas was pretty drained when he sent Dean and me back to the frontier days, then he did that thing with Bobby's soul. Uh, siphoning off extra energy, I think?" He yawned again, shaking his head, the flip of his hair accentuating the movement. He could've been a shampoo model, Gabriel thought absently. He had hair like a lion's mane. "You want to try that on me?"

There were any number of things Gabriel wanted to try on Sam Winchester, but now was not the time. "I could do that," he said slowly, surprised (though, really, given Sam's saintlike nature, he shouldn't have been) but considering it, "but I probably should only take enough to, like, poof some clothes or something. The bad guys are tapping in, remember? The stronger I get, the more they can steal."

"Okay," Sam said, changing into fresh clothes as he spoke, his voice occasionally muffled by shirts going on over his head, "so take whatever you need. If you take it when you need it, in small increments, you'll be able to use it before they can steal it, right?"

"You sure, Sammy?" Gabriel asked, turning and getting an eyeful of sixpack for a brief second before Sam's shirt settled down over his stomach. He swallowed, eyes flicking up to Sam's face. The hunter apparently hadn't noticed. "I mean, it's gonna hurt, plus I'll be literally holding your soul. That's, like, way beyond personal bubble invasion. They aren't even in the same league. I could end up reading your thoughts and shit."

Sam cocked his head. "I don't have anything to hide," he said. "As long as you don't go delving into me, you shouldn't get much, right?"

Gabriel nodded. "Right," he said. "Okay, well, sit down, then, I guess, and let's get this party started."

Sam rolled his eyes at him, but it was a good-natured sort of eye roll, accompanied by a smile. He sat down in the chair by the window, chin lifted in an unconscious, subtle expression of alpha-male posturing that made Gabriel's heart miss a beat, arms resting on the armrests, fingers curled lightly over the ends. Gabriel was again reminded of long gone kings and their equally royal bearing, but he pushed the thought aside, along with the desire to jump into Sam's lap and kiss him senseless. They were distracting, plus Sam might notice them while Gabriel was holding his soul.

Wings puffing behind him slightly, Gabriel came to stand over Sam, leaning over him, resting one hand on the back of Sam's chair and the other on the hunter's massive, muscular chest. Sam's eyes remained unwaveringly fixed on Gabriel's. Sam and Dean were both very good examples of human manliness, the archangel thought. Dean tended to overcompensate for his big heart by blustering and unnecessarily aggressive behavior, but Sam...Sam could silence a room with only a look. He exuded a quiet confidence, a level of self-assurance that brooked no argument. Oh, he'd compromise, certainly, he was more ruled by his head than his heart, but he was independent by nature, as shown by his relationship with his father. And Gabriel admired him for it. "All ready, Sammy?" he asked, quickly shutting off the feelings part of himself. Nope. He needed the mindset of an angel to do this right.

"Ready when you are," Sam said, bracing himself for the intrusion. From what he knew about the subject, souls did not take kindly to being invaded by someone who wasn't meant to be there. His eyes widened as he felt the first tendril of grace slinking inside him as Gabriel's hand sunk through his chest in a bright white flash of light. "Oh...." He hadn't meant to say that. His soul had seized its scattered, jagged pieces, curling its broken self into a tiny ball, trying to shield itself from further damage from an archangel, its most vulnerable and soft parts carefully sheltered in the meager shelter of its torn and sullied form. It released its hold on Sam's sigil-inscribed ribs, making Sam's lungs temporarily stop working and his heart stop for a split second before it jumped back into action, beating double time. But Gabriel's touch was warm and gentle, not like the icy, frostbitten snap of Lucifer that was so cold it burned or the blazing supernova of Michael. The youngest archangel had a touch like a chocolate kiss, smooth and silky and surprisingly tender. There was power there, oh, yes, but _this_ archangel wasn't here to hurt him.

Focused on his Grace, Gabriel wasn't really watching Sam's body writhing and whimpering under him. He'd settled onto Sam's lap to hold him still and minimize painful jostling. As his first string of Grace brushed Sam's terrified, shivering soul, its piteous pleading quieted. As he gently probed Sam's soul, seeking the best spot from which to borrow energy, uncontrollable rage began to boil in his blood. Michael and Lucifer had _ruined_ Sam's beautiful, wonderful soul, tearing it apart in all the most intimate and painful ways. Gabriel had never seen this kind of damage before. He felt Sam's soul give a shuddering sob and pull away from his overwhelming fury, and instantly he calmed himself. Whispering soothingly, his Grace curled around Sam's soul. It was intimate, so, so Dad-damn intimate, but Sam needed it. Sam needed to know that he was okay, that nobody was going to hurt him anymore because Gabriel was _there_ and Sam was _his_ hunter. Anyone who wanted to question that, well...there was a reason archangels were Heaven's weapons. Before Gabriel's long-dormant righteous wrath, no creature on his Father's earth could stand.

Sam's soul trembled in exhausting, nerve-wracking terror under the warmth of the archangel's embrace, an embrace simmering with emotions Sam was in no state to understand past the terrible, terrible anger flaring deep inside. Sam had learned to fear that kind of fury. But he became dimly aware of comfort signals, soft nudges for him to uncurl. At first he staunchly ignored them, used to this sort of ploy from Lucifer, but gradually, he began to loosen.

Sensing the all-consuming nature of Sam's fear, Gabriel did something he'd never done before: he parted a path through his protective nebula of Grace straight to the core of his being, leaving himself open and vulnerable to Sam. Human souls were powerful, powerful things, and if Sam lashed out now, he would cause serious damage to to Gabriel, probably irreversible and possibly fatal, especially in Gabriel's weakened state. Broken or not, Sam was power, power lovingly condensed and poured into a body, as all souls were. But oh, oh, Sam was unfurling now. This was the crucial part. If Sam pushed him away, Gabriel would take what he'd come for and retreat. But if Sam's soul accepted him, Gabriel could start to fix him, absorbing the threads of Sam's own energy into his Grace and using that energy to heal his brothers' wounds, or at least what he could of them. Then--wait, what the _hell_ was he doing? This was a direct betrayal of Sam's trust, a violation of the worst kind if he hadn't been given express consent! _Ohhhhh._ Souls were childlike things, and now, exhausted and too tired to be scared anymore, Sam's soul was nuzzling right up to Gabriel's heart, his actual literal heart (not the physical one, the other one). That...that was the kind of trust no angel ever dared _dream_ of. Gabriel's Grace was automatically absorbing the pulsing trails of shed energy Sam's soul was exuding, its shuddering stilled. It was curled right up to him, saying, _Here I am. You promised you wouldn't hurt me. I trust you._ Gabriel, once again, did not _understand_ Sam Winchester. Why him? As his full consciousness began to awaken, nurtured by the incredible power given off by the gentle soul Gabriel didn't have the heart to push away, he still couldn't understand it.

As it turned out, Sam Winchester's unconscious confession of love for Gabriel the Trickster saved their wayward brothers unimaginable torment, as the awakening of Gabriel's angelic senses sent a clarion call bursting outwards, an irresistible magnetic demand that the scattered pieces of his mojo could not refuse. They came back to him, flying back home and shedding their dark curses as they tore through unknown dimensions. One of the bigger chunks had been feeding the blackness trapping Castiel.


	10. In Which Castiel Tells the Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whaaaat? I'm updating? No way, yo! :O Yes, yes, I am updating, and I'm afraid this is all I've got and it is unbetaed. If you'd point out any typos, discrepancies, and the like you might find, that would be absolutely wonderful. I love you all so much for sticking with me, here ; w; I attempted to fix it

"No!" Cas cried. The dark inside him had suddenly weakened, and Castiel had been ejected to the surface of the filthy of it bog like a cork from a bottle, his desperate, fierce clawing for the surface rendered unnecessary as it thinned drastically. The scissors (more like shears) clunked to the ancient wooden floorboards. Cas could still feel the terror coursing through his gut at the idea that he had just been about to sheathe those in Dean's flesh, straddling his spinal cord, where even one twitch in the wrong direction could render him permanently paralyzed. Oh, Father in Heaven, what had he _done?_ "Dean, Dean, oh, Dean, I'm so sorry," Cas babbled, wrenching his Grace free of lingering darkness and releasing Dean from his bonds, sending the implements buried in the poor hunter's body to the hottest pool of magma under the Earth to die a painful death. He'd lost blood, so much blood, and he crumpled like a paper doll in the rain. Cas only barely caught him before he hit the floor. He cradled him to his chest, eyes wide in stunned horror as he saw what he'd done to his beautiful, beloved Dean. Dean coughed pathetically, his lungs starting to kick in again, startling Cas out of his appalled reverie. He'd let Dean suffer _more_ while he sat there gawking like a fool. Dean flinched when Cas' hand moved, trying to curl into a ball to protect himself, but Cas rested two fingers on his forehead, stealing his wounds away. The emotional wounds were deeper. Cas didn't know if he could ever fix those. A deep, bitter rage burned in his body and Grace against the filthy witch who'd bound him, forced him to do this to Dean. "Dean, shh, Dean, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he whispered, but Dean's eyes were closed, tears leaking from beneath closed eyelids to streak down his beautiful face.

"Nice try, jackass, _sir_ ," the hunter gritted through clenched teeth, dripping sarcasm. "Oldest one in the book. Raise false hopes to smash them again. You're fucking good at that. Sir."

"Dean Winchester, you listen to me," Cas growled. "I was under a spell. I didn't mean a word of that, not one, one _fucking_ word, do you understand me?!" He clutched Dean to him, unable to help it, even as he felt a shudder of repulsion ripple through his precious hunter.

"I'm not going to play along with your sick fucking games, _sir_ ," Dean snarled. "Do whatever the fuck you want if it means you'll leave Sammy alone, but don't expect me to believe your fucking bullshit." His voice was shaking. Oh, _Dean._ Cas wanted to cry and scream and kiss him and hug him all at once in one big ball of terrifying emotion.

"Dean, please," Castiel whispered. "I'm under a spell. You know that. Tell me how to prove it, Dean. I don't care what you want me to do. Please, Dean, give me a chance." He frowned anxiously down at Dean. "My name is Cas. You named me Cas. Call me that again, Dean, please. Don't call me 'sir'. Not now, not ever." 

"That's a good one, asshole," Dean hissed. "If you're under a spell, then why the hell did you 'snap out of it' now? Riddle me that, bastard."

"I don't know," Castiel whispered, deflated. "Father help me, I don't know."

Dean was silent for a moment, nostrils flared as he breathed slowly in and out, pain and confusion and rancor burning inside him. A note of sincerity rang in Cas' voice. Dean wanted to believe him, wanted to so badly.

Not at all sure Dean wouldn't stab him, Cas pulled his angel blade from where it was stored in his grace, the taint from the dark magic burning off of it under the fury in his newly-freed Grace, and pressed the hilt into Dean's hand. "Even my blade is damaged," Cas said quietly, "but it will still kill everything it once could." Cas was afraid for the state of his wings. He didn't want to think about it, but now that he was, a dull throb was making itself known. He bent over Dean as if to shield him from rain, and his wings sprouted painfully on his shoulders, the rips and sores snagging on the lips of the dimension in which Castiel normally hid them. A cloud of dark feathers, toasted black from the journey into Hell Castiel would never regret, cascaded down from them as they flared out behind him, shaking themselves out. Straightening, Cas sat absolutely still, stiff as a statue, waiting for his blade to slice into him, end his ancient life.

Dean got off of Cas, standing up. His eyes were fixed on the pitted, corroded surface of Cas' blade. It made Dean's heart ache, no matter how he tried to stifle it. Dean had never seen this kind of damage to an angel's blade. Even dead angels' blades remained intact. Something inside him told him this was a real angel blade, and more specifically, that it was Cas' blade. He looked up, and his words died in his throat. Cas' wings. Huge and black and...hurt. They were beautiful; God, even damaged like this they were amazing, but a hot fist of rage curled in Dean's belly. Somebody was fucking around with Cas, and somebody was going to pay. Cas' cold words from mere minutes before still rankled, struck home into Dean's deepest fears and insecurities, but Dean had to get the hell out of here. "Get up," Dean grunted.

Cas looked up, barely able to believe his ears. He stood, shedding more feathers, which made Dean wince. He opened his mouth to speak, but Dean cut him off.

"I don't know what the hell happened to you and your wings and your blade, but we'll fix it," he told him, voice carefully blank. He was afraid he'd break down and cry if he didn't do something, didn't keep moving. "Take us back to the shithole where that creepy-ass gator was. I need to get my damn clothes back."

Castiel nodded, stepping forward and pressing two fingers to Dean's forehead, hating how that made him flinch. "The cave is...safer," the angel said, knowing Dean still held his blade and perfectly okay with that. "There is magic there that will protect you from her. And me, should I be repossessed by the spell."

"So you _do_ know about the cave," Dean said, forcing himself not to sway as his stomach coiled in nauseous knots. "How the hell do you keep that secret if she can take you over whenever she wants? Who the hell is she, anyway?"

"I can't talk about her, Dean," Cas said. "She'll almost certainly hear me."

Dean gave him a cold, baleful look. "Whatever." He paused, thinking. "I'm going to swim across to that cave. You follow once I'm inside. I swear to God, I _will_ shoot you if you try anything." He wouldn't. Cas could hear it in his voice. Dean didn't want to hurt him.

"Okay, Dean," he agreed meekly. "I will wait for you here." He paused. "Crocodile," he decided. Seeing Dean's wary, suspicious look, he explained. "If I say 'crocodile,' it means the spell is taking effect again. Not a very likely possibility, but a possibility nevertheless. Stay in the cave if I say it. You have my blade. Use it if I attack you." His voice broke, remembering what he'd done to Dean. "Dean, I'm so sorry."

"Don't," Dean said flatly. "I appreciate the sentiment, but I...I can't right now." He cleared his throat, hoping to banish the lump there. "Right. 'Crocodile.' Got it." He jerked a thumb towards the murky waters of the mere. "Nothin' in there gonna eat me?"

Castiel shook his head. Nothing he knew of lived there capable of or willing to hurt Dean, and if they had a change of heart, Cas would convince them otherwise. Dean nodded. Cas could see the fear coiling in his gut as he turned his back on Cas and waded into the mere. "Watch the dropoff," Cas called. Dean's already tense shoulders stiffened further, and he nodded. When he reached the edge of the shallows, he sprung gracefully out into the water, slicing through it like an arrow. The water coursed down his back and shoulders, washing away the remaining blood and dirt from the terrible incident in the basement of the sugar mill, highlighting all the curves, lines, and planes of his perfect musculature in such a way that Castiel could not tear his eyes away. There were plenty of scars criscrossing Dean's broad, freckled shoulders and back, the newer ones pale against his tan skin,and the older ones faded with time. They disturbed the smooth path of the water, aberrations in the otherwise continuous, seamless caress of it.

Dean reached the cliff on the other side, one hand resting on it as he swam along to the false wall behind the boulder, where it went straight through. Both of his hands disappeared through the façade, resting flat on the unseen floor as he heaved himself up by his arms, shining water cascading down his muscular body, boxers clinging to his buttocks and thighs and leaving absolutely nothing to Castiel's imagination as the hunter hauled himself into the cave, bowed legs disappearing through the wall after the rest of him, water appearing seemingly out of nowhere to trickle down back into the mere whence it came.

Castiel stood stock still, shaken and feeling too hot inside his skin. He rebuilt Dean's body from the ground up. He was intimately acquainted with every cell. Why did it affect him so? Why did watching Dean swim make him ache this way? He felt like he had when he'd asked Dean about the pizza man, heard his deep, smooth voice talking to him and imagining--oh. He had been aroused then. But how on his Father's green earth could he be aroused _now,_ so soon after destroying what he had so lovingly rebuilt after its tenure in the Pit? His remorse still swam hot in his veins like molten lead, weighing him down, but on top of it flared this grease fire of an emotion fueled by something written into his Grace. He didn't understand how he could feel so much at once. Human vessels made everything so confusing, but Cas liked Jimmy. Jimmy fit nicely, and Jimmy made it possible to talk to Dean.

Dean stood inside the cave, oblivious to Cas' distressing dilemma outside on the far shore. He stripped his boxers off, once he'd made sure he was alone, and now he wrung them out as he scoped his surroundings. He didn't like running around in wet underwear. There were the bones of animals pressed into the walls like the dark stone was no more than melted wax in intricate patterns. It was hard to tell in the wan light of the guttering candle stubs, but the bones looked like they had teeth marks in them. Human teeth marks. Dean felt a little sick. In the back corner was a pile of slightly wilted vegetation, almost like a nest, and a huge alligator stared up at him from the floor, nothing but a skin now, though its skull had been reinserted. Its empty eye sockets followed Dean's movements, its yellowed teeth grinning leerily at him as he stood, stark naked, wringing his saturated underwear out. Dean flipped it off and put them back on. In the back, where he'd thrown it, lay the little bundle of his clothes. Skirting the lecherous alligator's head, Dean went to retrieve them, eager for the warmth they'd provide. As he pulled them on, most of the water having run off of him and leaving him only about as wet as if he'd been out of a shower for ten minutes, he noticed familiar markings on the walls, crude, incomplete versions of many of the protective symbols hunters used, and older marks, primitive but powerful that made the marrow in Dean's bones quiver just by looking at them. These marks were reminiscent of Enochian sigils. This cave was _old_ , Dean realized, staring at the marks and what could only be cave paintings on the walls, interrupted by the much, much newer bone patterns. Old as balls, as Bobby would say.

"Shit," Dean breathed, tracing one of the crude drawings with his fingers, "that's a wendigo." The grotesque, snarling face, the almost comically huge ears, the dead men scattered around it...the simple lines captured the essence of the monster. Dean incredulously arrived at the conclusion that he was standing in an ancient hunter's cave. He hopped the alligator's tail, jeans undone and shirt half on, to cross to the opposite wall. "Demon. Werewolf. Ghost. Vampire. God _damn,_ how the hell is this shit still here?" he asked himself. _Sammy's gonna have a fucking nerdgasm over this,_ Dean thought. _Oh, shit, **Sammy.**_ The momentary excitement over this incredible piece of history faded away as cold reality came back and chilled him to the bone. Woodenly, he finished getting dressed and went to stand in the doorway, which was empty from this side and provided a clear view of the marsh outside. Feeling somewhat better with his clothes on, Dean called to Cas, tugging his jacket more snugly around him. "Coast is clear. Come on over, Cas."

Shaking himself out of his reverie, Cas spread his sickly wings and took to the air, climbing erratically above the water and gliding into the cave with mathematical precision as he swooped in through the fake wall, tucking his wings neatly in to his sides to enter. "Hello, Dean," he greeted him, trying to keep his body language as nonthreatening as possible.

Dean, who had been watching in awe despite himself as Cas soared across the water, cleared his throat and nodded. "Nice moves," he found himself adding.

Cas blinked, surprised. He'd known Dean was thinking as much, but he didn't usually.... "Oh. Dean, you've got a hex bag," he said.

Dean tensed like a steel spring under a sudden great weight. "What?"

"Here." With his usual disregard for personal space, he stepped close to Dean and reached into his jacket pocket. Just as Castiel's fingers closed around the little bag, a tremor ran through Dean's body and he recoiled away from the brush of Castiel's fingers, the long-ingrained training that would normally have covered the reaction (it would have been considered weak in John Winchester's eyes, and it certainly was so in Dean's own) disabled by the magic of the bag. Castiel watched him, eyes heavy and sad with unfathomable remorse, the small sack of cursed objects in hand.

Dean tried to control himself, but his usual steel walls were cracked and shaky stone, ready to crumble at any moment. "Sorry," he muttered.

"Look away, Dean," Cas said softly, voice unusually gentle, almost as if he were addressing a frightened child. "I must burn it, and I do not wish to burn your eyes out with it."

Dean gazed at him for a long moment. Then, slowly, he nodded, and his brilliant green eyes slipped shut.

Castiel wanted to take him in his arms and keep him close, shield him from all comers, to care for his miraculous, awe-inspiring hunter for all eternity, and try to atone for the unforgivable crime he had committed against God's finest creation, but now was not the time. Focusing all his rage on the tiny bag in his hands, his eyes glowing with holy light tinted blue by his irises, he spoke two short words in Enochian that seemed to burn the very air with their intensity and the bag exploded in a flash of light. A shimmer of golden light zipped away from the bag and Castiel's blue lightning. Cas saw Dean tremble at the words, their exact meaning unknown to him but the gist and sharp tone perfectly clear, and then his walls were back, the vulnerable heart of him, exposed by the hex, safely hidden away once more. "You may open your eyes, Dean," Cas said, vanishing the ashes of the bag with a thought.

"What the hell was that?" Dean demanded.

"A hex bag, Dean," Cas answered. It hit him. Gabriel. That was Gabriel's grace inside that hex bag. But it certainly hadn't wanted to be there. There was something he should be connecting, here, something he should be getting, but he couldn't put his finger on it, "Someone wanted you vulnerable. That one was made to strip you of everything but your first reaction." He frowned. His horns were itching like crazy where they joined his cranium. Absently, he rubbed one against the wall. "What are you even doing here, Dean? Where's Sam?"

"Sam's in South Carolina with the Trickster," Dean admitted grudgingly. "And I came here because Gabriel showed me a picture of you, and no way in hell was I leaving you to fight this curse on your own." He shuffled his feet, hands in his pockets.

"Dean...as much as I would love to have you stay, and as much as I want to...to try and fix what I've done, I can't ask you to stay," Cas said quietly, rubbing at the base of his left antler. "Sam needs you for whatever case you're on, and I'm cursed, and I...I _hurt_ you, Dean. What I told you in that basement before I could break free of the spell, that...that was cruel and unforgivable and not true in the slightest. They weren't my words, but they came from my mouth, and I will never forgive myself for it, Dean."

"You're family, Cas," Dean told him. "You deserve everything I can give you. And...what you said, it...it was true. I should be dead. But I'm not. All I can do is make the best outta what I've been given." He shut his mouth, clamming up all over again. Castiel wanted to scream.

"Dean." Brimming with regret and a fierce desire to correct his horrid, horrid mistake, Cas crossed the space between them in two short steps, wings flared behind him, huge and fluffed and demanding that Dean pay attention to his next words. Dean looked like a cornered, beaten dog, which only served to fan the flames. Dean was amazing and wonderful and beautiful and he should carry himself with fitting grace and dignity. He should not be hurting this way, should not be tortured into submission. Dean was _fire_. Fire did not submit. "From the moment I saw you in the Pit, I knew you were special." Every word was pregnant with emotion, heavy and raw. "You are my Father's most incredible creation. No matter what comes your way, you always try to do the right thing."

"Cas--"

"I'm not finished," Castiel interrupted hotly, seizing him by the shirt collar and pulling him so close their chests touched. "I am telling you right here and now how I feel about you so that you may know always. You are fiercely loyal. You always get things done. You never give up. Your soul...Dean, there are no words to describe it. Your soul is like the sun, bright and beautiful and marvelous and strong and fiery and loving and I could not describe it in any language because you are impossible to put into boundaries. The way you light up when you are with your brother makes me feel fluttery inside, because you _glow,_ Dean. And your smile and your laugh and the way you 'rock out' to your favorite music in your car when you're racing down an empty highway are precious gifts, Dean, precious like the stars, just like everything else you do and say, and I hate it when I fail you and let you down, because you deserve better, Dean, so much better. You deserve better than what life has dealt you but you came through the fire stronger than ever. The wolf and the lion look to you for the example, Dean, of strength and care for one's family. You are a scourge on all that is evil, a gift from God to all the good who walk His green earth. You are a living legend, greatness personified, but you don't _see_ it. You don't _see,_ as I do, how incredible you truly are, Dean Winchester. I want to show you what I feel for you, show you how priceless and wonderful you are." His voice wobbled and broke as he spoke the next words, his gaze dropping guiltily from Dean's. "I don't deserve another chance. I know I don't. I have been so, so lucky and blessed to have spent so long with you as it is, but...Dean, I need you. I need you and, and...I love you."

Dean stared at him like a deer in the headlights, eyes round and huge, lips slightly parted. They were so close that Castiel could feel Dean's breath ghosting across his lips, but Dean was speechless, unable to understand why Cas thought of him like that, _how_ Cas could possibly think of him like that. He let out a tiny, broken noise, trying to make his brain compute what he was hearing, but all he could hear was that Cas loved him, ringing in his ears over and over like a joyous, unbelievable chorus of, well, angels.

And then Dean's lips were covering Cas' own, unbelievably soft and smooth, his hands sliding up the angel's arms and neck to cup his cheeks. Dean could feel the stubble prickling his palms, groundingly realistic in this otherwise surreal experience. Cas was too stunned to respond, at first, lost in the wonderful sensations of Dean's mouth moving against his own. And then Cas kissed him back, and that lost fire in Dean reignited in a flare like a volcanic eruption, feebler than it had been but burning white-hot, enveloping Cas with its fierce heat, even now sheltering him with all that it had, all that it was. That was who Dean was, Cas realized dimly, thoughts lost in the velvet slide of lips and tongues. He would fight to protect what he had with his last breath, would burn the last shred of his being to fuel the fire that kept his family safe. Dizzy and fast losing himself in the ecstasy that was kissing Dean Winchester, Castiel knew all over again that Dean was a gift, the most amazing and marvelous and breathtaking gift that his Father had ever created, and he was awed that Dean saw fit to love him, a broken, wayward angel.

"You're a fucking dumbass, Cas," Dean whispered, voice rough and wavering and hoarse, hands twisted tight in the angel's messy hair, carefully avoiding the antlers. "You're a fucking dumbass, but God, I love you, I love you so much." His eyes were closed, his breathing shuddery as he let Cas hold him close, his body trembling in the angel's arms. "Don't you say another _fucking_ word, or I'm going to break. I'm not...I'm not that great, Cas. I'm not. I'm fucked up as all hell. I'm no hero. But...thank you. For...for believing in me."

As requested, Cas stayed silent, cradling Dean close to him, as gentle as if he was a baby bird. With a snap of his fingers that made Dean jump, he turned the pile of vegetation in the corner into something more comfortable, a pile of cushions atop a bigger cushion. He nudged Dean towards it, and Dean took the hint, collapsing into a sitting position on the edge of it with a gulp and a sigh. He sounded like he was going to cry. Cas didn't like that.

"Come here," Dean said gruffly.

Tentatively, Cas sat down, leaving Dean his space.

"Aw, fuck, Cas, you pick now to start giving me my personal bubble?" Dean snorted. "No, damn it. Just...just fucking hold me for a while, okay? Yeah, yeah, I'm a grown-ass man, I shouldn't need it, but...."

"Everyone needs comforting sometimes, Dean," Cas said softly, breaking his silence as he embraced Dean, feeling the hunter shiver and then start to relax against his chest, feeling the cool kiss of the back of Dean's leather jacket against his skin, sticking and wrinkling as Dean leaned his head back against his shoulder, blowing out a slow breath that took the last of his defenses with it.

"Yeah, well, I'm not supposed to," Dean said quietly. "I'm supposed to be strong. I have to be strong, for Sammy, and for whatever poor sap's got a monster on their ass. I can't break like this. I have to stay strong, Cas, because if I'm not holding everybody together, they're gonna fly away from me and leave me all alone. Damn it, Cas, I don't wanna be alone. I don't want them to die. I have to keep them safe."

"There is no shame in needing support, Dean," Cas murmured, rubbing a hand across Dean's stomach soothingly. "No shame in any of this. They won't leave you if you aren't strong sometimes. They won't die. None of us will. We're here for you, Dean, as much as you are for us."

Dean let out a laugh that was closer to a sob, twisting in Cas' arms so that he was curled up against him, head tucked under his chin, like a small child, vulnerable and hurting. "Dad would kill me for this, you know. All of it."

"Your father was twisted by grief and pain, Dean. What he did was not right," Cas said sharply, clutching Dean close. "I don't know if he knew it or not, but I don't care. He treated you terribly, Dean. He forfeited the right to your loyalty when he made you grow up too fast. Don't worry about him anymore."

"Fuck, you sound scary when you growl like that," Dean breathed. "Hot as hell, too."

Cas understood. Dean couldn't talk about his father now, couldn't move on yet. It was frustrating, having to watch Dean beat himself up over doing things he needed or even just things he liked because a dead man would have had his head for it, but he understood. Dean needed time. He rubbed Dean's back reassuringly, letting Dean push him back onto the cushions and snuggle up to him, kicking his boots off as he did.

Dean kissed him, hovering on elbows and knees above him, their bodies inches apart, mouth working slowly against Cas'. "Cas, you know I...I...." He swallowed hard, his deep sigh whooshing softly out across Cas' lips as he leaned their foreheads together. "Thank you. For all the times you didn't give up on me."

"I could never give up on you, Dean Winchester," Castiel whispered. "No matter what, I'll be here for you." He pulled insistently on Dean's back, nudging him down on top of him. "Rest. We will speak more in the morning."

**Author's Note:**

> Probably shan't have a regular update schedule and I apologize for the lack of formatting; I'm on my ipad and yeah. Thank you for reading and feedback is always welcome! :D


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